River water kept flowing
Time kept ticking away
Seconds never seen again
Faded from the candle’s flame.

READ the poem before your eyes.
Speaking aloud is a pleasant surprise
for the sitting poem, in disguise,
is waiting for a reader to watch it’s sunrise.

A tree falls in the forest,
and it doesn't make a sound.

A man yells in the forest,
and local wild life forms a mob.

A man falls in the forest,
and he doesn't make a sound.

A tree yells in the forest,
and we all run like hell.

Sewn together to be torn apart,
bitten, beaten, ripped to pieces.
Put back together with used parts,
over time her quality decreases.
Drifting like petals in the gentle breeze,
the Doll goes where the wind blows.
She knows hell would have to freeze
in order to get a brand new set of clothes.
A ribbon wrapped to cover a tortured head,
wooden buttons and her bow colored red.

Poet’s pens write to take flight
Like paintings of the open blue sky
And the moon lightly lit at midnight
Growing as trees from Japanese Bonsai

Visions of green briery vines,
Red roses and blue violets,
Written in measured and timed lines
that glide by, like descending pilots

Readers see the shadow on the wall
Writers see the vision from down the hall

I shout inside my skin,
broken outside and in.

I sounded strange to men,
deranged to the women.

I shutter to my pen,
I live in the lion’s den.

Hello resident of apartment 6B,
I'm so happy you think
I'm your stinking mongrel's
best chance at a bowel movement!
While you're at it,
go play with some matches!
Better yet, park your car
next to me on the street!
I have a real job,
and I'm not employed
at Don's Johns!
Maybe if you set
yourself on fire,
you'll see me as something
other than a porta *****!