He saw her only yesterday, this girl that he once knew.
She looked happy with her family as she passed before his view.
When he sought what most desire, relationships got in the way.
He still recalls her tear stained cheeks the day he threw her love away.
He's dressed in fine designer suits, his chauffeur is on call.
One day he'll make C.E.O. -will then he have it all?
Yes, the world thinks him a Titan, of most uncommon clay,
as he thirsts, like one in Hell, for the tears she shed that day.

The crystal face is missing from this witness to the deed.
It doesn’t have its’ seconds hand, there is no longer need.
The date displays “11”. That it always will
to remind us of the day on in which fanaticism killed.
I look upon Todd Beamer’s watch and experience a chill,
realizing that while Time truly flies, it also can stand still.

When young men take up football, they often come to grief.
Steroids often fuel the strength that they need to compete.
there is violence in the game and roid rage in the Elite.
Young men thirst for glory, getting paid to deal defeat.
So when they turn on women, am I surprised?- not in the least.
They are bred for strength and violence, it's the nature of the Beast.

Long and passionate or short and sweet./
Old Aunt Mabel’s peck on the cheek./
French or American, it matters not/
Long and languorous I find hot/
Experienced or ingénue/
Always enjoyable and new/
Given by mistresses or/
Bestowed by Misses./
In a pinch I’ve made do
With Hershey’s
kisses!

Every woman has one in her closet-
(although some are loathe to confess)
It’s perfect for many occasions.
It is known as the little black dress..

For Women who seek to entice,
or have men they want to impress.,
There is nothing terribly virginal
concerning that little black dress.

Its of Spidery inspiration and,
oh, what a web they can weave.
They use it, some say, ensnaring their prey.
It comes out again when they grieve.

In Wedding, our Ladies wear white.,
A Little black dress when they keen.
They dress in subtler shades of gray
on all the days in between.

My darling, sleep, and never wake.
though it may cause my heart to break,
The morphine drip is a kinder fate
than that which would befall you.

Swollen limbs, incessant pain,
The Doctors think just days remain.
When life is only life in name,
No joy remains before you.

So hold my hand in your tight grip
as when our youngest child was born.
I promise I won’t let it slip
Until it is no longer warm.

You gifted me with forty years.
In health and sickness, we were a team.
Now, at last, you are at peace,
Sleep my love, perchance, to dream

I am patient in my work. I take pride in what I do.
I have no room to make mistakes that would, forever, be on view.
I crouch before the stone with the dew still on the grass.
I record the names and dates which are their only epitaphs.
I’ve been at this work some time and I always work alone.
For lives written on water I record their term in stone.
Each gravestone holds a story of a life, once lived, now past.
These lives of joy and sorrow which, though precious, do not last.
Each one searching for their meaning, experienced alone,
from the moment of conception until the day that they’re called home.
Some here had lived a century, others just a day,
their entrances and exits incused for posterity.
Fate, which is inexorable, brings everyone this way.
to leave a stone upon a stone, to ponder and to pray