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Paul Morgana Dec 2013
Born a human, innocent and young,
Night time his mother's voice has sung,

Sweet melodic songs learned in her youth,
What career would he chose, doctor, lawyer or sleuth?

Uncle Sam made this choice, against mothers will,
Drafted and trained, they taught him to ****.

Gunpowder and death, are the scents in the air,
Many miles away from mom's love and her care.

Common is this scene, man is weaned on war,
Happy is the day the fighting is no more.

But not this day, the bullets fly,
Bombs explode, and men will die.

Special forces have trained this boy well,
His future is set, his mind placed in hell.

Countless incursions behind the enemies line,
An Assassins life is always in a bind.

Given a target, nothing else in his head,
I can't go back, until my mark is dead.

His time in the service has come to an end,
Many targets erased, on a plane they will send,

Him back to mother, innocent no more,
A dark dank distance, for mom is in store.

For many like him, the story ends here,
Lost and alone, his nights filled with fear.

But not the special forces, a letter will be sent,
An opportunity awaits, that will pay all the rent.

We have a position, and qualified you are,
Your records from the service, indicate you were a star.

Come to Washington, see if the jobs OK,
The letters return address, was marked CIA.

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Paul Morgana Sep 2013
(This is a true story)

Working in the ICU, on the graveyard shift,
Paul here's your admission, into bed we must lift.

I had overlooked the name while taking report,
The past was calling, she was an old cohort.

My beautiful Linda, five years together,
We'd still be a couple except for her daughter Heather.

I couldn't win over the child, tried though I might,
She wanted her father, always an uphill fight.

So my friend, my love, my perfect mate,
Parted company, feelings of pain and sorrow, never of hate.

Time marches on and the years rolled by,
Less were Linda tears shed that I needed to dry.

Back in the ICU, esophageal varicies was her fate.
Alcoholism eroded her neck veins, death couldn't wait.

She looked up at me, smiled and said,
I never stopped loving you, always in my head.

The ***** helped dull the pain and regret,
Without it your recollection did constantly beset,

And into my life left a gargantuan hole,
Not just in my body, into my eternal soul.

I have to go now God's calling my name,
As she grabbed my hand her strength did wane.

Great efforts were taken, for life we do strive,
Compressing her chest didn't keep her alive.

Prepared her body I did clean and did wrap,
Placed her into a shroud, my strength this did sap.

I finished my shift and went on my way,
Her sweet warm memories caressed me that day.

Dearest Linda I hope you found peace,
My love for you never will cease.

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Paul Morgana Sep 2013
You've been mine for a thousand years,
Through a mountain of problems, and a river of tears.

Living with me isn't done with ease,
But I'll never stop thinking of ways to please,

You're corporal self, this is sheer delight,
Folly and frolic until late at night.

The emotional needs I can handle my sweet,
Versed in Maslow and Erickson I'm ready to greet,

And make you feel safe both night and day,
Feelings never faltering, hear my words say,

My love I'm committed to your every desire,
It's not just my *****, but my soul that's on fire.

Each time that I gander into your soft eyes,
God calls your name, I peer up at the skies.

The rainbow of colors seen after a rain,
Include the color of your eyes, they drive me insane!!

The warmth of the sun shining sultry on my face,
Similar to the nights snuggling on our five by seven space.

The gentle movement as the clouds roll by,
Is reminiscent of massage, that at night closed your eye.

Even the falling raindrops landing tender on the land,
Compares to tears of missing you, wiped away with my hand.

I'll give you my all, refusing to fall,
you can't deny what you feel,
My pretty child, you drive me wild,
your emotions I don't need to steal!!

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Paul Morgana Mar 2013
Easter time is for rejoicing, dead and risen,
Not just Jesus, but those stuck in prison.

Actual bars, or self made prison, we all bear a cross,
Jesus died on it, and was laid in the moss.

When bereaved friends came, to visit and cry,
What they would see would shock their eye.

Not just their eyes, but the whole worlds too,
Jesus was gone, body and soul had flew.

What's left was a rag, they had placed on his face,
He had died without money, a cave was his place.

And risen he did, way up on a cloud,
While angry at man, of his son God was proud.

The death of Jesus, is a symbol of life,
When we leave this world, with the pain and the strife,

So to our soul it will rise, and take wing,
And to the feet of God, will fly and bring,

The final judgment, from way up above,
Don’t be afraid, he is only pure love.

He won't judge you too harshly, his word is of hope,
Go to him quickly, take flight and don’t mope.

The creator and his son are waiting our return,
Of his name and his word, many people do spurn.

Science can explain, both of heaven and the earth,
Still I wonder about those, dose it diminish their worth?

When they spread the word of evolution and the ape,
Does God get upset, that his children should ****,

His actions and good judgment, and try to explain,
That there is no God, this must cause him great pain.

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Paul Morgana Mar 2013
The calendar reads March, the winter is done,
Its time for the spring and all kinds of fun!

Work your body, as the days grow long,
Exercise your muscles, and get real strong!

Things come alive, trees start to bud,
Testosterone flows, men feel like a stud.

Women look for a man to provide,
Less clothes on the body, no skin to hide

Play ball! The baseball umpires cry,
A long fly ball, hit high into the sky.

Unstable weather, warm and then cold,
It matters little, this story is told,

About the season that is loved by most,
The days lengthen, and other things to boast,

Like the hockey playoffs, at Madison Square,
Turn on the TV and pull up a chair,

Watch the Rangers play and kick some tail,
When shooting the puck, they cannot fail.

The Knicks also are home at the Square,
For years, their playoff cupboard's been bare.

Things looking better, hope the veterans last,
A ring for the team, lies deep in the past.

Easter time occurs in the spring,
The son of God and strong feelings he brings,

The story does tell, of his death on the cross,
Mankind's big mistake, what a terrible loss.

All these good things, happen in the spring,
Nature smiles at this time, and we fly on her wing.

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Paul Morgana Mar 2013
Another year, another Paddies day,
Here in New York, hope for sun to play.

So the Irish celebration, takes winged flight,
Green is the color in everyone's sight.

Parade in the street, down fifth avenue.
The master of ceremony, we don't know who?

But the master this day, stands as St. Pat,
Clad in green, with a leprechaun's hat.

Hear the bagpipes, the drums pounding loud,
This is the Irish day, to stand and be proud!

A Catholic holiday, dietary sanctions they lift,
Eat meat and drink alcohol, is the Popes gift.

What are we celebrating?  Let's take a closer look,
Power up the computer or crack open a book.

St. Patrick was born under English rule,
His family was clergy, formally educated in school.

Kidnapped by the Irish, and held as a slave,
To journey back to England he must be brave.

He returned one day to the Irish shore,
About the eternal Trinity, the Irish learned more.

A bishop now, native clove he did use,
To teach the Irish, about celestial clues.

About the father and son and the holy ghost,
The three leaves on a shamrock, they will forever toast!

The three leaves of a shamrock, and it's circular shape,
Are the same as God's Trinity, the logic you can't escape.

This is why the shamrock is so highly revered,
Wear one on your vest, or tucked into your beard.

Enjoy the day, celebrate with family and friend,
Toast to St. Patrick, may his legacy never end!

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Paul Morgana Feb 2013
I had a dream the other night, guess who was the star?
Sitting in a smoke filled room, it was an old man's bar.

Drinking old man's drinks, made with scotch and rye,
What should I see with my bloodshot eye?

A beautiful girl appeared, and clinging to her thighs,
This skintight dress made all of silk, designed in just your size.

In her hand she had a smoke, and blew some in my face,
I tried to grab the dress in back, but couldn't get the lace.

Coughing and choking I looked at her, as she walked away,
I got excited watching her walk; her hips did dip and sway.

By now it's pretty obvious, member hard in my pants,
Walked right up behind her and asked, honey do you dance?

When finally I saw her face, much to my surprise,
Guess who was starring back at me, I wouldn't tell you lies.

My beautiful Josephine was looking in my eyes,
Silky blonde hair on her head, that dress grabbed her thighs.

She said, hey baby I'm standing here, will it take all night,
For you to come and kiss my lips, and try to get it right.

I laid my lips across her face and got a big wet kiss,
Suddenly my dream was done; I woke in the abyss.

Looking at the night table, what there should I find?
An ashtray with some stale smoked butts, happened to be your kind.

I got right there out of bed, and on something I did slip,
The hot silk dress I dreamed about, that clinged all to your hip.

Upon hitting the floor and banging my head, I heard a soft low voice,
Are you ok? She said to me, to answer I had no choice.

I'm ok love of mine, I'll come right back to bed,
When finally getting close to her, I kissed her on the head.

Was it real or did I dream, what difference does it make,
My loves warm body next to mine, her heart is what I take.

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