My last poem went to cyberspace
thrown back in my own face
of it I can find no trace
I suppose it's a sad disgrace

I had a good one going
the seasons of life showing
dying tragically, not knowing
only the sun and moon still glowing

A speck of dust...is man
nothing goes according to his plan
but he fights as long as he can stand
not content with the earthly life he ran

He's forgotten his own Maker
the earth and heavens shaker
he was never a giver, always a taker
he was never authentic, always a faker

So, God forgot him and his sins
his foolish fancies and whims
his beer, his whiskies and gin
where his soul and his mind had been.