If I thought about you,
would you think about me?
If I give
and you take,
could I ever expect you to give?
Why,
when I'm
with you
I feel I can live,
but time progresses,
and words dissipate;
the need for words
seem less provoked.

You're insufferable.
The humor in this
is what I've become
at my own expense.
This shadow
clinging onto
a discontent
disposition.

Delusions
deemed
deeply drastic during
decomposition,
decidedly.

I decided.
Lights turn on.
Light bulbs flash.
Shadows dissipate.
The same as our words,
decidedly.

The poet sang of a battle-field
Where doughty deeds were done,
Where stout blows rang on helm and shield
And a kingdom's fate was spun
With the scarlet thread of victory,
And honor from death's grim revelry
Like a flame-red flower was won!
So bravely he sang that all who heard
With the sting of the fight and the triumph were stirred,
And they cried, "Let us blazon his name on high,
He has sung a song that will never die!"

Again, full throated, he sang of fame
And ambition's honeyed lure,
Of the chaplet that garlands a mighty name,
Till his listeners fired with the god-like flame
To do, to dare, to endure!
The thirsty lips of the world were fain
The cup of glamor he vaunted to drain,
And the people murmured as he went by,
"He has sung a song that will never die !"

And once more he sang, all low and apart,
A song of the love that was born in his heart:
Thinking to voice in unfettered strain
Its sweet delight and its sweeter pain;
Nothing he cared what the throngs might say
Who passed him unheeding from day to day,
For he only longed with his melodies
The soul of the one beloved to please.

The song of war that he sang is as naught,
For the field and its heroes are long forgot,
And the song he sang of fame and power
Was never remembered beyond its hour!
Only to-day his name is known
By the song he sang apart and alone,
And the great world pauses with joy to hear
The notes that were strung for a lover's ear.

The sky was green, the trees were red
Folks were rising from the dead
I guess I should have stayed in bed
Things were going on in Salem

Zombies walking through the town
The inside of my shorts was brown
What once was up was somehow down
What was going on in Salem

I'd heard a tale of witches three
Who died in sixteen ninety three
They all were hung from a tall tree
In a spot outside of Salem

I checked to see they weren't around
They were still buried in the ground
They lay there silent, nary a sound
But, what was wrong in Salem

Covens, witches, fake or real
Red trees, green skies was quite surreal
For zombies, I might be their next meal
The was magic out in Salem

I did some research and found out
That spells recited round about
By witches reinforced with stout
Would ***** things up in Salem

You see, a spell from in the past
would never work, nor would it last
Especially if it was cast
By a drunken witch in Salem

We found her dancing in the park
She'd gotten drunk just for a lark
She'd been drinking hard since before dark
To cast a spell on Salem

The cops came in and charged said witch
For casting spells while drunk, the *****
Forgot the rules, there lies the hitch
Of casting spells in Salem

Public Intoxicantation , the charge was laid
For all the mischief that she made
Three nights in jail, a fine was paid
Now all is well in Salem