The road never changes
Only the seasons
The ghosts pass by
****** at twenty three
Adultery at twenty one
Produced a son
The madness at thirty nine
Twin sisters
The children of time
Twenty four, they would scream
The hanging *****
The road knew more
Number one seen all
Predicted the fall
The great and the good
Misunderstood
The road was the end
The very end
She screamed at number five
Number four knew why
It was her time to die
The children played
At the gates of time
They would sing their songs
Like the nursery rhymes
Twenty three and twenty one produced a son
Cried the sisters of time
They knocked down her door
Killed the *****
Killed the *****
She saw the crime
Just in time, to scream
Why, oh why
She had to die
She had to die
The road knows why
The seasons pass by
The seasons pass by

The irony of it all.
She'd been having an affair for months
Kept it so discreet
Then she found out he'd been having an affair for years
How ironic was that.

you must learn
     the music of death
          in short phrases
   and
     stitch them together
          into a complete piece
so you are not surprised
     at the Grand Finale

  ~mce

They stopped to talk when they noticed him
He always sits there
Has done for years
Maybe he likes the spot
No, it’s tragic
Pray tell
Well, i don’t actually know
I Think his wife died there  
You think
Yes, my mother told me when i was a child
Told you what
Told me something tragic had happened
But you don’t know what
Well, you don’t ask
Why don’t you ask
You don’t impose in peoples grief
Everybody knows that
Is he grieving
Of course he’s grieving, it’s obvious
It’s curious, not obvious
One way to find out though
You’re not going to ask him
I am

The story

I sit here everyday
For everyday the scene changes
Today i see a couple across from me
Other days, it maybe a jogger, dog walker, children playing.
Sunshine, rain, gales, snow
I will go home and paint that scene
It will always be different
And with a twinkle in his eye, he laughed
I may even have painted you as a child out with your mum
The ice was broken
My mum always brought me here
She would love it to think someone had painted us
They spoke in length
A stroll in the park had changed her life
The visit to her mum was extra special
She had a special gift.

When I go out,
my cat sprawls
on the carpet and
dismisses me with
a half-opened eye.

When I return, I
find him in the
same disdainful
posture.

But I imagine that
when I am gone
he calls his cat
buddies, they come
over, drink beer
and whiskey,
smoke cigars, play
poker and watch
kitty ****.

Small wonder the
poor beast needs
so much sleep.

  ~mce

When i cop a nice honey
It's not for the money
Or for something that benefits me briefly
But someone i think i connect with massively and can really see myself falling for
When i do, i go all out
I try to deem myself worthy
And it doesn't end when i get her
It's just the beginning
I like a honey for her herself
Not for the usual expectations
When i show signs of wanting to be with you, i hope you feel extra special it's because i see something in you that you might not.