Act my age? Never **** me The number of years You spent living Defines the chronological age Not biological state State of your morphology, anatomy, physiology I am talking of biological age Forty is sixty Sixty is forty As if an alligator measures Eight feet from left to right Six feet from right to left If you're fit and fine Young at heart and mind Chronological age is immaterial So acting my age I don't wish to be trite I shall act with all my drives Biological age prescribes Behaving stray dogs and cattle I shall avoid
You left so suddenly. I thought you were coming back, I was so alone. Months passed and you were still gone, I thought it was my fault. That I had done something wrong, to push away your love. I started to look for that love in other men. Turns out their love isn't sweet like honey, but burns like whiskey. Now look what you've done to me.
The factory was a dual role one It was a great division of labour And of resources making double the profit
On a Monday it made polonium And on a Tuesday it made baby milk And on a Wednesday it made anthrax And on a Thursday it made flour And on a Friday it made cyanide And on a Saturday it made sugar And on a Sunday it made strychnine
This was a factory of war and peace It depended on the day It was worked in three shifts 7 days a week 365 days a year Feeding nation’s civilians And poisoning the enemies
from Side of the Hill – Varied Poems... Nick Armbrister
hypnotic euphonious voice summons pulling me deep crevice inner darkness unfolded somewhere between black hole light folding out absolute nothing equals something take away energy plus light glue between organic biological treasure contained skin cell facade glowing from the inside out
You don’t get to come back You can keep your lies I know you didn’t try Lighting up is all you had in your eyes So me and guys and her We suffered from the choices per The addiction you let control you Separated One with drugs One who lost One with debt And one who died We all cried We mourned what you took What you stole What we lost We can’t retrieve that time But the four of us No, three, That’s two for me Will make it up So when you hear me And ask, When you can come back The answer is When you clean up your act
I wrote this about about the sudden reemergence of my biological family and the emotions that come with that.
Why fear death? It's natural, It's biological, It comes to us all, wether you want it or not, sooner or later, nobody stays to tell the story, when they go, they say nothing and never come back we try to reach out and nobody answers or calls, guess we have to look for it in the yellow pages.
A melding of time and experiences Twisted into a known identity
A confluence of memories That will one day fade into thin air
A figment of my imagination Or yours
A spiritual being going through a human existence “We are human beings, not human doings.
Every once in a while we need to stop and smell the roses, Hear what is really being said, taste the essence of life, Touch someone’s heart and see life for what it truly is, A journey with rest areas.”