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Searle May 2014
“Come join the joy ride.”
‘cause life’s a rollercoaster.
You can live life on the sidelines,
Watching others raise their arms and scream
Or you can get in line and live life to the full!

There will be up-hills,
And moments when you feel like you’re standing still,
But that’s when you must lift your eyes,
For right then the whole world stretches out before you!

And once you’ve crested those hills,
Be sure that shortly there’ll be a wonderful drop,
Where your stomach will flip,
And you’ll feel the butterflies!

For that’s life,
Up-hills and down-hills,
But so long as when the ride stops you can say,
“Now that was one hell of a ride!”.
Searle May 2014
... they are the nameless
the suggestors
the invisible advisors
because if “they say”, then that’s how it is

... no faces
yet resounding words
they echo in our heads
are they conscience?

puppet masters
influencing our actions
we’d stake our lives on it,
... because they say

manipulating the spineless
a mirage of wisdom to fools
quoting quotes of the quoted
they say it... we repeat it

our fair weather reference
the convenient alibi
a rumour circulated
returning modified to suit the occasion

who are they... but us?
You know when people say, "they say that..." well, who is that "they"?
Searle May 2014
“To my Love”… I start the letter
Which I know will be a curse,
For we said we’d be together, for better…
And for worse.

Each line that I pen
Forces a tear from my eye,
For I reminisce of back-then
Before I knew I was about to die.

Ah, the warmth of summer days,
Before receiving the dark news,
But somehow they seem a haze
Of autumn and of hues.

The good times we had
Seem to dance before me
Never were you sad
You seemed so happy… so free.

But now with my letter and life
Both about to end
I sign off with a tear and all my love for you my wife,
My love… my friend
Searle May 2014
Worn… the scenes are vivid
Of angry protests,
Scowling faces,
And the sharp knife that rips the flesh.

The **** of hate that wounds our nation
Clear stares me in the eyes.
There’s no mistaking the gun he’s wielding,
As in another hi-jacking a mother dies.

Removed… the vivid scenes are vague,
The protests are joyful dances,
Smiles on every side
And the knife a lollypop shared between lovers.

Our nation healed and united
Flows free before my eyes.
There’s no mistaking the flag he’s waving
As proud above one nation it flies.

This view may be dim and the edges… a slight blur,
But this is how I prefer to view our nation…
…without my glasses.
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder
Searle May 2014
Fresh from the incubator… we come out a box,
Newly born and eager to burn.
The doctor’s smack lights the wick,
A weak flicker is the start.

In his teens the wind bends the flame to go with the flow,
But flickering moments of dark then light
Teach it straight to grow
And that the way of shadows is not the way to go.

The steady flame now burns long,
Wide shedding light for many to follow.
But the etch of wax-runs on his face
Tell of many a hard year come and gone.

Now the wick is growing short,
As bent he leans upon a stick.
Once again the flame is weak… just a glow,
As dimly now he views the world.

Sadly it begins to flicker… crackle
His voice hoarse from years of shinning.
Finally down comes the cold dowser
And swiftly snuffs out the life.

Now only rises his spirit… a mere wisp of grey
As once again he lays waxen white… in a box.
Life is so brief
Searle May 2014
I felt the stab of pain
From a brother in the hood
One seeking to rise to fame
I thought he understood.

I taste the bitter in what he said
As he spits the words out
“I wish you were dead”
He just verified my doubt.

I hear the cries for pity
In our own neighborhood,
Not across the state or in another city
I hear the cries that no one ever should.

I smell the stench of betrayal
Of the brother who killed his mate.
“And thus he came to the end of his trail”,
Said the pastor, as silent he lays in state.

I see the mother dab her eye
She’s crying for our state
It’s not just the other guy
It’s our nation drowned in hate!
Hate consumes
Searle May 2014
I hear the foot steps coming… stomping down the hall,
In my room I shut my eyes and wait for the blow to fall.
From the uneven walking and the swearing that I hear,
I know it’s not you I can expect, as I slowly dry a tear.

He’d come home drunk, having lost his job, and started hitting you mom,
You had simply asked him how we’d live without him making tom.
But he lost his rag, maybe stress, and pulled you by your hair,
Next thing you knew you couldn’t move and he’d broken another chair.

This time you knew he’d gone too far, but you could just painfully stare,
As he kicked and beat your numb body till you lay there bare.
To scream from the pain in your back you opened your mouth, but not a word came out,
Then you closed it again, afraid to loose the rest of your teeth as down came another clout.

Now downstairs there’s silence, as he realizes what he’s done,
Then in fear and anger he makes his way upstairs to finish what he’s began.
His drunken mind tells him that if he’s ever found out,
He’ll spend his years in a jail, having to sit it out.

So now I sit here mom, with only a few seconds to go,
My heart trembling and the tears begin to flow.
It’s not how I expected the end to come, from a man I once called “dad”,
But I know tomorrow when he’s sobered up, he’s the one who’ll be sad.

And that’s why these tears I’m crying, it’s for him, cause I know he’s not bad,
And now when me and mom are gone, I hope he’ll remember all the good times we’ve had.
I don’t blame him at all for this thing he’s done… no, not at all,
Drinking is many people’s weakness, it’s many’s downfall.

But the man I really blame is the one behind the bar,
He stands there watching, giving him drink, knowing he’s gone too far.
He’s only there for the money and couldn’t care for his life,
So may it be on him, the blood of his daughter and his wife.
The reality of alcohol
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