By: Cedric McClester

Nobody really knows
But I guess we can suppose
That terror’s at the root
Or maybe that point’s moot
Fact of the matter is
What speculation gives
Is us a working theory
Though all of it is scary

We’re left to wonder why
A plane falls from the sky
And no one can deny
The terror alibi
But people don’t cha see
It doesn’t have to be
What’s the reality
I don’t know, search me?

And the accuracy
Of the early reports we see
As we try to figure out
Is questionable no doubt
Because without the evidence to show
We don’t really know
What the true answer is
To the present quiz

We’re left to wonder why
A plane falls from the sky
And no one can deny
The terror alibi
But people don’t cha see
It doesn’t have to be
What’s the reality
I don’t know, search me?

Whatever theory that they choose
Becomes the breaking new
And images will replay
Until the cameras go away

Nobody really knows
But I guess we can suppose
That terror’s at the root
Or maybe that point’s moot
Fact of the matter is
What speculation gives
Is us a working theory
Though all of it is scary

Cedric McClester, Copyright (c) 2016.  All rights reserved.

Lefty , I can't imagine how he got his name
Always did things backwards . . . so . . . . .
I was not surprised when he up and went away

Never said why , when , or where he had to go
Now he is growing old where as they say
"Only God Knows"

What are clouds anyway ?
Water vapor in the sky ?
I think it is so much more

I think they are recycled tears
Of every broken heart that ever be
Falling to a desert below

My cactus flower
Blooming in the night
So none will see

She keeps her love close
Protected by her needles

I sit and watch her bloom
And before the sun has begun
I leave looking for lefty

And the reasons I quit
Are the excuses I choose

Between the desert and the sea
Where the cause will be
Clouds keep winking at me

The circle is broken into pieces
I speak in deserts of sand
Drown in seas of lingering waves of pain

And I have no clue where lefty went
Only remember a cactus flower blooming
Without the thorns between the two

If the sky did ever fall my dear, it wouldn't spare but a moment for goodbyes. This is why you never heard me leave.

I listened to my favourite Beatles album.
Closed my eyes as the harmonies glistened
           in my ears.
Remembered when I bought the album, the LP.
      Sign of my old age.
I miss those days. I miss not being tired,
      uncomfortable, disorientated.

I watched a man nearly die today. He lay
        in a bed near to mine.
Apparently he felt the luxury of ingesting
      who knows what illegal drugs.
Foolish man.
Stupid man.

I almost wish he could trade places with me.
That he could feel the aching of disease.

That is what this is. A disease. An abhorrent
series of bad growing like weeds in a garden.

      If they pull the weeds,
      if they are successful,
      I'll change lots of
      choices I've made.

Choices. There's a thought! To be free again
        to make choices.

I have none now. I'm victim to the needs to
      cure the body.

A nurse mentioned to me that faith was
      an important factor
      in the healing process.

"Of course", she said, "I personally don't believe
      in God."
And I thought,
    "Ah, another person
    with the luxury of choices.

Was so glad to get home. To put on this album, this CD.
    That's the modern term.

This disease is my enemy, my rope around my neck.
      It does not
      care
      how
       beautifully
    John, Paul, and George
     harmonized.