Absence is a period with a period.

Visible, not visible, and repeat,
the mighty feat
the enduring human spirit
in the faith of subsidence of pain
that the book on the table
will be picked up and read again.

It keeps us going
the strength in the sense
too real is the presence.

Then a day
the book is taken away
the loved pens an ode
of absence definite
without a period.

Windows were once green
bricks fabulous red
upon the wall daylight
glowed like newlywed!

So lovely did it stand
the toy house in the moon
did it ever happen
didn't it end too soon?

Words were fewer then
wild thoughts ran galore
of mysteries now boxed up
behind tightly shut door!

Who stole the girl cutest
was it time or a man
that left her robed whitest
spinning the widow's yarn!

What really it yields
the house that once was red
with love and bricks was built
then broke and never remade!

I ask the price before buying.

There's a price tag for everything
upon the breakeven a levied charge
for life has not one bit
bought sans the urge to profit
taken home void of bargain
friend, lover, companion
at a price not to be alone
without a fallout of gain or pain
of sweet or bitter taste
lifelong joy or sooner regret.

Do I have a price?

As for my own
I feel always underpaid..

the woman I took to the bed
the child I raised
friends and companions
seem all miserly in paying the dues..

maybe they rue too
I haven't paid theirs.

Pay your obeisance to the Lord,
you'll be paid back with prosperity.

The priest towers above the throngs of devotees.

Within the Lord's precinct is a rush for repentance
the arrogant bows down here
the wealthy falls on the ground
the poor renews plea.

The priest preys on their prayer
the Lord's coffer is full.

In that heavenly scene,
all sins are forgotten.

Clatter clutter on the pave, feet on the run
furrowed brows faces grave, life is no fun
home to work work to home, time is so mean
to and fro on the track, heads in a spin.

Red for the pedestrian, green for the car
quicker may save the day, sights are a blur
conspires the digit light, ticks ever slow
holds up adds to fright, the cruel red glow.

Just on the other side, a few blocks more
you are late again, ears hear the roar
had they only known, the hurdles on the way
the daily mad struggle, to save the day's pay.

The road is clear now, on a quick glance
here's the time to move, grab the prized chance
clatter clutter on the pave, feet on the run
blood spreads on the tar, redder in the sun.