words are just wonders
   one
          can release,
                 but only one's pen
could ever crease
                     into the safety
of a poem's lease.
     so this
        is
        a
    note
        to
       a
  pen.
      "
     Oh,
    draw
  Your line
And never
Look back
From those
inked words
that flow
   from
   your
   clack
   and
   let
   them
   flow
   into
   sharp
   flack.
  or maybe
  give words
  that proper,
  warm embrace  
  which can get
  lullabies fall
  into disgrace.
  or maybe just
  draw a perfect
  dark contour
  playing with
  edges that
  make sights
  demure...
  add dots
  and spots
  on plain
  white
  paper,
  like
  living
  knots
  in the
  hands
  of a
  draper.
  pour
  some
  more
  ink
  on
  me.
   "

The serpentine queue refused to budge.

It were the grown-ups that were stressed
the children babbled showing no unhappiness
with the pause offering so much more to do
and nothing that useful to look forward to.

Some faces looked as though made no sense
this waiting for mundane taxing patience
but were eyes that peered staunchly keen
as if the wait's end God would be seen.

Though lumps of time allowed break from the run
not one face showed up some feeling of the fun
anxious and jittery they smoked up the place
to my mind the children were only saving grace.

"Goodbye" was the title of the poem
It was rather lengthy now to read
About the struggles of a girl
Suicide , and cutting just to bleed

I left a short comment there to see
And moved on down the page
And I never thought about it again
Time passed on by in days

Then last night I saw a poem
And it was titled "Thanks"
It was from the mother of the girl
Saying she committed suicide last night

What of these final evening thoughts
That really wants me to forgive myself
For what conspired throughout the day

Where, I just couldn’t do it anymore
Become a ball breaker,
I always dreamt of an early retirement .
my unfilled bucket lists

The Harley bike I never rode out into the country
Images of it parked near a tree by the lakeside
Like so, I became one with my thoughts
Loud: clapping sound only startle us

Once again, there are those mirrors that surround us.
Watching: and that one obstacle
The monthly mortgaged bill