We all have high hopes
As we step on the wagon
With the band playing
Grab the tail of the dragon

Not really knowing
What we are needing
Where we are going
When we are leaving

Just when we get there, hoping
Not everything's broken

Tripping the light
Of the fandango
What's the big fuss
Why can't we let go

Paying the fair
On what should be free
Instead mostly  care
You about you and me about me

This far into game I was hoping
Everything wasn't broken

Used to we'd all
Come up to the line
The same one we've learned
To step over in time

No matter which side
We all take a beating
With nowhere to hide
In our time of grieving

Either direction, coming or going
Seems these days, everything's broken

on poetry*

A poem is only a mouthful of air
until it is read.
Imagine it. Craft it carefully
from your heart's flesh.
Seal it in a bottle
of clear, pure words.
Set it adrift on
the ocean of time,
life's restless surge,
until a few congruous spirits
pluck it from the sea-wrack
and recognize a message
that illuminates their souls.
Readers find writers;
never the opposite.

might not get the numbers
but I sure do get quality of viewers,
I admire all of you
who by their names
are quality
and I have watched you do
good things
and take a minute
, even if not noticed or qualified ,
to make someone down
feel better
to those I say
I just love you
and your hearts!