Welcome to the House of Dix,
Where Otto Dix was alive but sick.
In this room, where we play,
Otto took his life and his name.
He hung himself to relieve his pain
And ‘Hangman’ was the name they gave.
His story has been shared for years and, in fact,
It is told that if you enter a match
There is no escape and no turning back.
So, think twice, and do not lapse.

To play his game, it is very simple,
What lies before you: one paper, one pencil.
The Host and Players must gather about.
The Host of the game must then shout,
‘Hangman! One Host...’ and the number of guests.
You will hear a bell that confirms your request.
Each Player is given three hints and three hints only.
Not per hour, not per round, but throughout the entirety
Of the game. If you are out of hints, you may need to worry,
Because no more is given, so don’t rush or hurry.

The Player in turn must choose a letter from the alphabet.
But to stay in the game, that letter must be correct.
If that letter is wrong in select,
The Host must draw Hangman’s body to connect.
Once all six body parts of the Hangman is drawn,
The Player in turn of the game is withdrawn.
But if the Player guesses the game right,
They are safe for the round and maybe the night.
If the Player feels that they can solve,
They should and pray that they aren’t wrong.
For if they are wrong, the Host will not draw
The head, the body, a leg, or an arm.
Instead, the Player is hung and gone.

Towards the end of the game, with one Player and one Host,
If the Player guesses correctly, then both can go home.
But if the Player is wrong, they may turn ghost,
And the only one safe to walk is the Host.

What you see is not a dream.
Hide now before they seek.

Isn’t she lovely when she sighs in relief
And her breath twists and twirls the leaves?
After they burned her forest and left her in grief,
Mother Nature can finally breathe.

I remember when it used to snow.
I’d stare in awe out my window.
‘You’ll get frostbite!’ I was told.
Now, I’m old and it barely gets cold.

I remember when it used to snow.
Even at night, you could see it glow.
The birds would leave, but now they stay.
Even they’re confused in these “winter” days.

I remember when it used to snow.
O my, wasn’t it beautiful?
My niece questions on the way home,
“What did it feel like, the snow?”

Yon lives a city dearth of purpose,
Surviving with incurable curses.
Glowing green grass grows around.
Water rushes, silent in sound.
White pasty buildings line the plain.
Happiness has left, but the people remain.

In this bleak city, lacking wonder,
The people traverse frail from hunger.
They starve not for food, nor money, nor love.
Freedom is what they’re famished of.
They’ve plenty of company, time, and water.
They’ve anything a city could need to prosper.

But cursed be these healthy beings.
Shown on their sombre skin’s the readings
Of ****** rapacity from their King,
Left with despair and decrepit scenes.

With qualm in their veins, they serve their ruler.
The people obey Him with death on their shoulders.
They carry hope, their lore, and illicit sin
As they stroll through the city with dismal within.

I am born.
I conquer.
I am hated.
I am murdered.

They hated the snow she provided them
So they can build their snowmen.
They angered her, so she froze them in,
And they wished and prayed for the sun again.

She brought them light and butterflies
To hush their mouths and halt their cries.
They asked for roses, beets, and tangerines.
She cried to grow their floral dreams.

Her tears halted their outside time,
So they begged and asked for more sunlight.
She stopped her tears and obeyed their request,
And brought bees, fireflies, and sweat.

The flowers she brought gave them flus.
The bees she gave stung them blue.
The sun scorched and burned their skin,
So they begged and begged for the cold again.

She blew wind to cool them off.
She showed colors of brown and apricot.
She left leaves and pinecones around their house,
But they raked them up and threw them out.

They angered her, so she froze them in,
With hopes to never see them again!
She did everything they requested,
But they hated her no matter what she did.

Lost at home drifting through the sea,
What once used to be thriving,
Annexed by unsighted debris,
The ice moved on feebly.

Nature has her magical ways,
Growing and changing the weathered days.
Despite the beautiful scenes she can provide,
Her magic is no match for mankind.

The ice wonders why it cannot fight.
It wonders why it has to survive.
As it floats around, it begs for the life
It once had in its past time.
As it is slowly shrinking in size,
The ice wonders why, oh why.

The ice’s foe enjoys his fun,
Living wildly under the sun.
The foe knows his materialistic behavior,
Does no good for him nor Mother Nature.
As the foe carelessly continues his unruly rights,
Why, oh why, wonders the ice.

With no defense, the ice moves along, hoping its past life will return.
The sky looked down at nature’s work. It too, mourned and yearned.
Slowly shrinking and passing by,
The ice wonders why, oh why.