When the Cockerel  doesn't awaken


our slumber..

              We shall know that the world
is but a memory.

And we shall never awaken,

                               to the sunrise once more.

If the voice spoke to me,
                           I'd get my gun.
Put  it to my temple,
                   as this is the only one that I know Is real...

                                    and say...
Speak to me,
                    this is my temple,
and if nothing answered.


I knew to put a sky light
                              from where they came..


My temple is hollow and the voices
               were my insanity
colluding me to false promises




of virtue...

I was told to write about you,

    handing an empty sheet

of paper...

They asked how couldn't you
write a single line on how you
                                          love her.

"I said,

How can an essence ever be turned into
a language understood,
every one

                            is different.

Like a prism
       everyday is different
never the same.

Its like saying capture a storm
                                in a picture!

All you capture is the
                                  stillness.
Not the passion of the wind,
            
the voice of the rain,
             speaking to the ground.



"I asked them,

Capture your last breath ,
and tell me what words

you said...

How could I do that?

exactly, now tell me how to capture
                          her in words,

that'll do justice to how I feel about her...

If I'm  the drag would you be

                                          my queen?


Yes I maybe a bit of a drama queen,

    but we know

who sits on the throne..

I took more time on my hair,
         than you did on your make up.

But you know that all my time is  yours.

I may be a drag,
but we know who hold the title of beauty.

    I'm just the ***** and your the lady,

              be my woman and ill always love you.

And I'll never drag you down,


                                           but lift you higher up.

I was the king with no throne,
             I only sat upon the curb..

My crown was my neighbourhood,
   and all that did surround...

I'll never disrespect my brethren,
             for they stand by my side,

behind me, in front to protect we, us
           all from the idioms of who


think that this land is free verse,

     never this is a rhyme of colours
           that'll write that this is our

street and others neither may stand

                              or bellowing there

right to stand on land sacred to our
                                                  families.

we don't fight with swords,
           but our metal will pierce like
cut from a far we are the knights of
                                our neighbourhood.

I don't sit on a thrown, on a kerb I gaze
              around I wear no crown...

But everyone knows I'm king and ill
           bury metal in you like a sword
pieced the stone.

Like that you'll be cold,
metal not pulled but
                          rather calved out..

Expelled before I could haunt
your time,
             I wanted to be within you.

Wanting to wonder your halls,
         but I wasn't given time

to

show you that not every floor board
    was creepy, I just wanted to show


that you weren't alone,
                            what did I have to lose
I was no body..

But you exorcized your right,
           had that cloth man come

in your house...

But I showed him
                     that there is more
than one way to

                           defrock a cloth...


I locked him in his mind,
for a man of god there were some
                       dark things in there to
keep him in purgatory
                                 for more than this life time.

I touched your face,
                        it wasn't cold but warmth,


            never to harm but to keep safely
from those who'd do you harm.

A ring spins on the floor, words circular
at speed spelling out in blurred exhaustion.


                                                       I love you....

She was neve going to be in white,
              neutrality was never

going to be her hue.

She was telling the world a message..


Her gown, was onyx silk woven
                 like Cinderella had told the
arachnids  to create beauty in the night
unbridled
            it fell entrapping on any who gazed

upon its woven radiance.

She walked down the isle and with each step,
                                at least five were captivated

in the webbing of her beauty,
                       walking beyond there view.

All entombed within the elegance
             that captured them.

She was the spider weaving a web of beauty
           that captured every eye.

And the man was her prey, he smiled
          lost in the moment of her captivation.

I do, I do,  and both were entangled
within the
                             eyes of each.

This moment was silk ropes tied to each others
          wrists,
         and now they'll weave them every step
              

                          they collect together.

We dropping it low before
            it became came trendy..

We flying higher than any man
                  could shot us low

below..

We never lost control,  lights below

                                about to be dimmed


Dropping our attitude,  
                   we showed

that we could drop it harder

than any man an then some more.

Flying with our crew we were the angels
               dropping our vengeance below.

No one was safe when we flew,
    we were angles of death, of life.

We flew when others couldnt.

Our names were avenging beauties,
          and we kissed all below

with the fire of kisses falling from above.

We are neither boundaries or fields,
           for both even though seem to be free,

keep us confided,  
                              even though we don't realise it.

We may be able to walk afar,
but if we are stalled by others,

we are still prisoners
                           of a further field of consciousness.

When the jigsaw
had only two pieces
     to make a picture

and there were three?

You'll try put it in any hole it fits in..

We are godless
and yet more moral
                       than those who
                               cherry pick.


                    And yet never
able to swallow the
                         pip.

She was like a storm
               with no rain...

Just a tornado of destructive vocabulary.


Destroying every excuse
                               that I ever gave.

I was never a flood, never a river
               of ill equipped reasons.

Sometimes I just slipped on my
              own excuses.

I was the goldfish in her bowl
             of life..

And I had the memory of,
                yes darling ill do that.

But I shut the door and her wind
       became a breeze that never

dried in my thoughts..

My memory was a goldfish
        out of water only interested

In breathing.

But no matter what,she'll never
rain down.she'll just dry me off
         and sometime I remember,

and kisses are rained down instead
      of huricane vocabulary..

We ghetto rich,
         I'm a Primark star..


I got every piece of original

    Pri… and I've neve bee
marked down in price,

I'm  beautiful....

No need for rich chick flicks..

I own what I got, make the most

         of what I'm given.

Beauty isn't what you got,

                 its what you do with it,

Never looking down always forward.

Because I make the most of what I have,


you work hard, we make do..

   I'm Pre-fabulous...

And its not what you wear,


                       but how you wear it.

I was the tree in your forest,
          but you threw a match

on the undergrowth of my insecurities.

Never letting me grow, a potential

           to flourish, grow upwards,


But you burnt me down,
           every emotion was tinder's

I was ash below your feet,
              but when one is burnt

down to many times.

One becomes more resilient to
           the flames that are lit on purpose.


Unyielding you lit to many matches,
         and the last time one stood tall.

Untouched by your demoralization,
             and i grew past you

and now my forest is blossoming
         i grew ever stronger

now that your words burnt out.

I wasn't the flower in a vase,
          more like in amber,

Captured within a vessel
of unreachable ambiguity.

I was seen but not heard,
                a silent movie of beauty,

That screamed silently,

                                  but was
         smiling on the outside.

My other half, was the remote,
                 batteries never inserted
so instead hitting the screen but

not where bruises could be seen..

For perfection shouldn't be blemished.


They didn't have a mute button,
   only loud when alone..

"Morning,

Was the catalyst for the repercussions
         of anothers manners,

         but I never answered back,

but still I was flirting with my looks..

I'm freely caged, never able to fly..
       Instead I perch clipped wings

never aloud to fly beyond there eyesight.

She is every reaction of my
                                  thought.

A reflection of my every
                             movement.

My sight is only for her,
                         never upon

                      another's bust.

My heart couldn't beat,
   without her in my veins..

She is my breath my exhalation.
                       My forever moments

that never fade only make me breath deeper.

Never be a reed

                  behind a tree.

hidden away from others.


      Always be the wind,

as it can pass beyond any obstacle.

I was beating out rhymes
        While in the womb.
Best selling records
        Before  I was even born.

You were just a mistaken
£5, £20 Hook up. £20 was so they
Didn't pull out. The £5 was
To brush the teeth as breath
          Smelt like **** ate out.

But mistakenly you were
       Here. And you didn't know
Ya dad. My family was tight.

Now I know it's not your fault,
  But your rhymes are as loose
                 As what you fell out.

I sell words,



while you sell out.

        But not in the sense of
Big seller more you couldn't
Sell water, even if there
                      was a drought.

Me, I have family, I've got fans.
My rhymes give observation
                    Of real life's times.


You copy others ideas, but
Your rhymes choke out.

   If I was a Picasso then
You were the crayon drawing
That a three year old drew out.

Now I know you want to rise
Above your past, but you and me.
I'm the sun my words are the moon.
And when we come together you
  My boy were eclipsed out.

I'll never be that pretty flower,
        you wanted to smell.

Thinking that beauty is only
      the scent...

I litter the room, with petals,
     never picking up after myself.

Not everything i say is roses,
       sometimes I be a thorn
                             in your side.

But you stood next to me,
             Never ever once

trying to water me compliments.

You said I was pretty, I let you
           get away with that one..

Try to sniff me again,
               I'll break your jaw...

We may falter we may fall,

                          But if one of us is able to rise

          from the ashes

then others didn't fall at all.



For they live in me and I'm vengeance

                                         watch them all falter.

They will evaporate like rain,
                soaking the earth as they fall.

We may have faltered,
                                       but you fell before
              you thought i'd have fallen but I

like the fallen, we all stand tall...

You were coming at me like you
                               got crew.
But you all boys, not men you
              pretend to be.

More like a baby sitting club,
         sitting watching Sesame Street.



Well I got crew,

and guess what,
             there counting down


on you and your
                                                               boys.


One dead, two dead, three and four,
    you still bad mouthing us... guess what
                        we got more finger to count more.

5,6,7,8 more crew sleeping in the morgue..

Guess what you ain't got no crew no more.

You the big yellow bird squawking like you got
     room in your cage, but my boys caught you.

Now we plucked that attitude from your feathers,
                  I don't hear disrespect  just tears that fall.

I'm the cookie monster and I'm all street,
                     I'll eat up your neighbourhood
and you you'll be selling crumb's on the
corner for me.


         I'm the monster that your mum
said would be scaring you.

She was the ****, I was the crystal
addicted to each other the moment
                                              we meet.

But every high has a come down,
                I'm the ***** needle..

She was the spoon, warming up on
               another's sleeve.

Tided tightly ready to overdose on her.

                     She was the chemical bliss
that could  be taken anywhere,  



                                         I thought...
that we were something special.

But I was used,
                      discarded.

I was useless to her, as I was unable
         to pierce the vein..

Used to many times.

So she found another way to find
              a way to make her self higher

than she was with me.

Now I'm in a come down

rehabilitated
                   and I'm struggling.

Your like, look at the bloke with no legs,
      I be like,  I can run faster than you mouth.

Yes I many be stumpy and do these shorts
      look big on me, but I'll never be shorter
than your short mindedness.

Running your gob like your mouth,
                                                   matches your shoesize.

Dam why would you even admit that..
  well I haven't got height but boy I have length

not like you...

Do you shop at baby gap for then tiny toes,

I'll always be higher than those belittling
                                                      ­                others.
for there short term gratitude.


My strength isn't vertical,
its that I can stand taller
              than all the misgivings that others
stigma me with.

Before they realise the truth,
that  is I can see a lot
             more truth than you can,
the taller they are the more noise

                               they make when they fall.

Your were the feather,
       me the flight beneath your wings.

But we were never meant to soar,
   people trying to shoot us down...


                                   Your friends,
her plumage isn't pretty enough..

                                       My mates,
well I saw him kissing another girl..


Funny that jealousy makes others
         like a dodo.. unhappy that they
                           cant fly higher than us.

Because the days they said, like amnesia.


            We were together handcuffed to each
others fingers,
                           never letting go.
We resisted arrest ending up in the bedroom.

                                             Feathers flew that night.

You told me I was a masterpiece that only
you could admire, and your friends were
                                        jealous that I
wasn't  open all hours...

     No i only had private screening in my life for one.

We flew higher than the stars,
never shooting across,
             no we just huddled in the darkness close.

Stormzy, more like bad lyrics
in a teacup, scream that your
street, but you brush of the
norm and drive around like
you better, than the bros that really
                      live and die on the street.

But you more receded than your
                hair line..

finking you know what the lyrics
you spill really mean.

But you faker than
          your forehead botoox
   that don't mean what you spill...

Like you lyrics..

                           That are like a bag
of scrabble spilt on the floor,
   disorganized sentences that
                                      mean nothing..

Making sentences that don't even flow,
         A desert flows smother than your


rhyme..

you faker than a Kardashian, but cheaper..

He was the brave,
              the martyr of the people.
Dying for what he believed in.

                                         The truth,
for every touch was a continuum
of what was spread upon others.

He told the world, was subjugated
        to a whistle that was silenced
before he could tune out a hum...

But he told the many,
                       of the few
that  have now become more.

That  just a whistle,
                            became a voice,
now that has  fall like a tree in
a forest of many but people
see them fall and fear they
could be  the next to be no more.

But his whistle has become a shout,
            and the people demand

honour for a man of life that died
               because he worked on those
suffering and now he had fallen.

He will be remembered as the one
             who cried out and saved
                      many before he timed out..

You were my dusk
                       to my horizon.

As somewhere we were either
      rising above
               or
s
i
n
k
i
n
g
                             below.

Hues at dusk kissed the luminosity
     clinging to the last vestiges
                  that were kisses sent
as a parting gift of crimson lipstick
                   shades  upon the atmosphere.

Horizons would be a breath of fresh air,
                     or downpours of emotion.
I could either be a fresh breeze of inspiration
                                on a new day.

Or missing you, a deluge of seasonal
                                        falling..

But you always managed to lift me up
                       no matter the day...

You made me look at what life was,
       and to always shine upon the moments
that help me rise higher everyday,

for the
               eternity of us...

Each step is an inevitable
              one to our last.

So make sure you walk slowly,
              you don't want to rush

the inevitable.

Even take a few steps
           back sometimes

you'll see more the

                             second time ...

The Christmas tree is vacant of what
make it jolly, bauballs  hang in remanence
                      with tarnished broken gleam.
Disused needles litter the floor,
  careful where you tread take care.  

The cat hangs loosely paper thin flesh
             gaunt from the crimson tinsel
throttled around its physique...

The Turkey on the table a corpse of
                            happier times..

Now a prison of destitute flesh
   like paper unwrote upon..
              But it says everything.

Presents litter the floor wrapped in
regrets.. all open, only the bones of
                   lost promises lay at the bottom.

Christmas time is only 364 days away,
   And this will all be here,

so will we,
                                 no one has found us yet..

You know they have these,
           those groups for
people who are,
          were,
        are going through addictions.

Well I was going to one such place...
I'm not addicted not like these people.
My failings are
              light compared to those others.

I was hooked on the deity addiction,
              I was raised to believe in certain
                          noncorporal
unsubstantiated constructed fear factors.

I was for many a immature years fearful of
           what I was doing till I was 7 years old.

Questions were my maturity, I'd read that
            these man made constructs, well the
top of today were all
                      with an area of minimal distance..

                                               It was like,
the central point for god creationism,
                   who had the most followers,

who had the snakes tongue, the intellect
              to make other listen to there lies..

But so it happened, there were the old gods
   fading into obscurity..
they were real for a time,
           but the thing about time, everything dies.

But the words huddled the masses,
      you see there was a religion,
religions already around that stood the
   testament of time.

These new ones approaching gaining ground,
they were either an off shoot of
                      there disagreements,
of the word of there god not others
                                                   as they weren't real...


No there's was real, but the gods before were wrong??
                                            ok...…..

But moving on and we have the oldest religions still
around. Some have the masses where some have but a
only a few followers not as many as way back when.
Here's a quick lesson in gods and spirituality,
counting down we have:

1. Hinduism (Circa 7,000 BCE)
2. Judaism (Circa 2,000 BCE)
3.Zoroastrianism (Circa 1,500 BCE)
4. Shinto (Circa 700 BCE)
5.Buddhism (Circa 600 BCE)
Jainism (Circa 600 BCE)
Confucianism (Circa 600 BCE)
Taoism (Circa 500 BCE)

So you see that there are some old that still remain..


But the thing that people forget is that in the old times
wars were fought on the premise of there gods words
were the truth and the others were distortions not the
right word of god, gods.. look down, I know...

1.Second War of Kappel
2. Lebanese Civil War
3.The Crusades
4. Second Sudanese Civil war
5. First Sudanese Civil War
6. German Peasants’ War
7. Nigerian Civil War
8. French Wars Of Religion
9. Thirty Years’ War
10. Eighty Years’ War

I know what your thinking what the fudge has this
got to do with now, quite a lot it would seem.
We have new religions popping up, some are just
plain ***... and people follow these.

But the good thing is time is awaking the masses to
the ridicule of what these old books stood for.

Hate, Love ******, ****, intimidation to believe or
                                 pay a levy or pay with your life.

But the world is awake, more than ever.
         So I sit here in this room, listening to the
stories of what made them rescind the notion
of belief in a deity, that controlled them now
                                          they have cut the strings.  

I just hope one day that we all can look behind us
and wonder why we were so immature to think
that  these things helped us find our keys,
                         but let a child die of starvation..

if you don't see the contradiction your still blind I see...

Shallow grave hung,
     Where the forgotten
Lyrically blessed suffocate,
      
     They just scream silently.

But I dug you up,
brushed you off,
          reserectted your carrear.

Now you be trying to hit
From behind with the *****
    That revived you last year

I dug you out,
         I can bury you deeper


you hear.

Don't think I didn't fill in that hole,
                      in-fact I dug it deeper
just in-case you thought that you
           climbed higher than the hole
                              you were dredged up.

RIP, you were exhumed no I embedded
       a ***** as your tombstone,

sorry I dug it a but to deep.


    But your vocal cords were severed

                                now enjoy your rest
and  scream silently you hear.

We are a millisecond, so we must make every
                                Nano fraction worth our existence.

because we are all just dust
                                      given form


before were dust once  again.

Lets microwave our kernel
                           of thought.

Seeing what  becomes of it,
       when the moments have
counted down.

And the ping of freshly popped
                 ideas become a tasty metaphor.

I was the nail in a coffin
                       of hardship.

But just because I was a nail
didn't disconnect me from
                the ideology of my use.

I held it together,
        for many this was to much,
brittle and frail they never dug
                                  down deep.

Where I held this all together,
          I wasn't about to let life
pull me out,.

I was a nail, holding my life together,
           a coffin of hardships that 'll
                                        bury one day..

but for now I'm in deep enough
                          to keep it together.

It shouldn't be
          I,
        But us...

It shouldn't be
         We,
But all...

It shouldn't be the way it is,
            but all of us, we, I everyone

needs to wake up to the fact
were a people not a us, them.

I hope one day we realise
  that a tree cant grow branches if there
aren't roots to  hold it together,

                                               we're all the leaf's.

Melancholy undercurrents trapping
me within this stream of repressive
                                        desperation.

On the surface I was flowing like
         nothing was misconstrued.
but on the river bed the turbulence
was stripping me clean.

Undercurrents of adjective references,
           that were slowly polishing
my need to let myself be swallowed.

Never come up for air again..

My riverbed is the silence,
   but I don't want to slumber..
             I'm going to swim,

even though the shoreline keeps
                                  moving away.

You said you were the blunt,
smoking others like
                              they smoke,
  But you never inhaled back.

All smoke and now
                                 blunt rhymes.

You all gesture, hanging out with
your boys always behind
                       never up front.  
                    

Missing in the pictures, short ****
                              behind the trees.  

I'll exhale in your face choking you
out on reality that your lost in the
                                                smoke.

No one will ever be above you,
as your always looked down upon.
     Short **** blunt rhymed hack.

lets be blunt, not the smog,  but the facts.
                       that I'll alway smoke you...

Your mouth like groundhog day,
           ever repeating the same melody
sang out of tune.
  
But I'm the Bill Murray learning
that every time has to be different
          or you just living

your weak dreams.

Your just a lame re-run cancelled after
          the second episode,
but you think you famous cos people
recognise you for the wrong reasons.

Laughing behind your back.

       Your girl has had more rubber in
her than burnt out tires on the street.

Telling you she was saving it for you,
   should've  been a used car salesman.
   lying about how many miles
                                   she'd already done.

Ok off subject,

  You were yesterday never today..
  Always thinking you a star,
          but you shooting across
my atmosphere.

And I'm burning you up.


Ye bright for a moment,
                 then you just nothing.
But ash that I flick off my shoulder.  


You dropped and nothing
is going to bring you back.

As you mouths living
         a groundhog day.

                                        Learning nothing,
but that I'm already on tomorrow,
why your mouth living the same *** day.

I was plugging your woman,
            see she was the socket,

And I was the one that gave
          Her the charge.
She was the amp, I was the watt..
Arching her back,
  like I'd electrocuted the g spot.

You were a one use battery,
         dead on the first use.

I'll recharge her when you at work,
               earning the bread.
But I'm buttering her with my tongue..
                                       spreading it even.

She needs you.

            Wants me.

The reason that you don't
                   have a florescent
             bulb in your bedroom.
It would be like shooting stars
                         across the sky.

I'm the javelin thrower,
   you the tap drip,
            drip,
dripping in the bedroom.

A Rottweiler growing, you the poodle.
                                      But don't worry,
                 not here to ruin you bro.

  Just to ruin her wet spot,
                    And I'm already thirsty.

Hitting you up side the head,
concussion from my lyrical spread.
You got cerebral haemorrhaging as
my words hit you with a even spread.

Your ears are bleeding,
            dry mouth as nothing said.
My words drip from your ears
                       enough you said.

But im not the one taking
                weak **** shoots.
You tried an failed,
now your get syllable assaulted.

But no prosecution,
cos the only
          witness is incoherent mumbling.

If you come at me again,
better get those words sharpened,
       cos they need to get  past

your breath.

As they blunt at the moment.

My words are a razor cutting your throat,
     you'll bleed out but, ill smother your

Haemorrhaging silence,
On bottom of my shoe.
As i throat choke you,
                  listen to that...

Its the silence of you,

And I looked at my watch,
      your the last second past,
uninteresting and not worth remembering.

You were the drought
  and I was the rain that
was going to drown you out.

But you swam like you depended
                on the earth to hold you.

Never letting you hold ground
              cos I took it from under you.

No discipline to hold you like gravity,
        the only thing you'll be doing is sinking..
  

Bottom of the bay, where all wasted things
                sink too, you may take a while.

But believe me you'll end up where the rest
               sank.

Shrink wrapped with
        stones of regret on ya
             ankles of missteps.

When you dried out I was the oasis
                   of plentiful rhyme.

you tried to steal from my fountain
   but i held you under till you drowned.

And as long as no one knows where you
  were ship wrecked, you'll be a drought
in a sea of plentiful moisture
                                    that i drink upon.

I got the attention, but the wrong eyes
were perving me, not the ladies    
                                             but blue bottles
eyes were looking me up and down..

I had nothing, but they were buzzing on
me like I wanted to swat this swam that
               never stopped its blue luminosity.

Handcuffing me to false accusations..

I was never there yesterday,
                                   wasn't there tomorrow.

But you got witnesses that saw me
                there even though I was in a cell..
       for being in a place you didn't like.

But na bro.. I'm guilty cos the cameras were
                                                                ­  broken.

And no one saw me in a cell, even though
              five of you carried me like I was
drowning innocent.
                                   In blue swells of  *******
                                                      a sea of setup lies.

I'm here now, my first name Is innocence,
           surname is you ani't nothing on me.

I'll always walk free,
                    cos my footsteps never trod

on this ground.

And you got no steps that put me before
                            the moment that you tripped up.

I'm walking free, and your walking away..

If words could weep,  
           mine would be rivers

And the sentences would be
           a deluge on my

emotions.

We all drown,
but its our choice
   which tide we try to

fight against.

How will we drown...

We may fall in the battle for peace,
           but even in death

we stand tall.

And our stone etched in honour,
   reaches higher than any vocation.

Can a man make a difference,
              will one action make a truth.

                              the answer is
who ever passes the finish line first.

We are all paused,
            awaiting a reset
that never comes.

The reality of us is,
       we must continue
even though we feel static.

As time will never wait
only continue past our pain. .

But moments heal over
                       and we continue.

Scarred but we wear
             them proudly,  
so not to show we were weak
          but prevailed over our past.

If her trousers were any
                                          tighter,
I'd have to get the clippers out

  As that toe, was in need of a trim..

Little lights staring forth,
   slightly glazed in need
of a gentle buffering.
   Always seeing where red
was going, although when
it was night his beams
  not focused more
                                  a blur.

But muddy features showed
   this little tractor wasn't
scared of hard work.
   In fact his tires in need
of a clean, as tracks left behind
where he'd travelled forth.


Looking behind you could see
which direction red had come
from, but they weren't random.
If you got a little height you could
make out little pictures drawn in
                   tire treaded dirt.

A regular little artist was red,
   Now he was little, so sometimes
red would get in mischief.
Found on the grass no tracks?
Just a do not touch sign on the
                                               floor.

But there were no muddy treads,
   No flowers crushed before his path.
So how did little red get on the grass,
found sleepily slumbering his little
                           exhaust snoring away.

"Red, wake up,

As he stretched a little pump
                 came out his exhaust,

"Whoops,
               as he blushed a slightly darker
          hue of  red than before.

"What you doing on the grass red?

I don't know, I must have sleep wheeled
    here, its so much soft than the cobbles
I sleep on in the shed.

But there are no tracks, I must have tip tired toed,
  so not to wake you up.
                       I knocked over the sign,
And felt how comfortable it was.

The farmer knew he'd accidently
                              told him the truth.
Red was only little after all.
  Ok would you like to sleep under the
stars on a field of grass from now on.

"Oh yes please, its so soft and comfy
          on my tires,

The farmer smiled come on red,
                  as he lifted him off the grass gently
so not to crush the flowers.
Red drove at his side, tire tracks following
behind as he drove through puddles
         splashing the farmer as he walked on.

Tome stones of wood
           honouring those
who used to gaze upon
the beauty before them,

     sitting in reflection.

A tiny plaque with
      a name respecting
he loss.

Now others
    sit in respect of the
          one sat here before.

Gazing into the surroundings,
                deep in thought,
of a world passing them by.