Fire trucking,
Sock ducking,
**** *******,
Mother *******,
Chicken clucking,
**** tucking,
**** ******,
Cake.

There is an opposite, to everything,
In life this time, moments, you will make,
Mistakes, decisions in your mind,
Other days you will glow so bright,
Everything you touch or do, will,
Turn out right, be honest with yourself,
So much time can be wasted,
Trying to chase dreams, your soul and spirit,
Will let you know, they will never be in your sights.
I treat everyone the same, honest words, no games,
Life is to short, all the people, since the first two,
Adam & Eve, we each are equal to one drop of water,
In the largest sea, or one grain of sand on the beach,
You see, your words, stories, and made up excuses,
Are not as important as your actions every day.
Think of someone you loved that has passed away,
You do not picture, clothes, cars, or any other,
Material thing, You feel the energy, they shared,
And gave, while taking time from their short life,
Through actions, showing you, they truly cared.

                                               The Original Tom Maxwell  © 7/26/23 AD

A few throw in their Towel.
Some drown in a Pool of Tears.
A few fight life, like Fighters.
Others suffer through the Years.
Few string up their sentences
and bleed with words they Write.
Writing Prose and Poetry,
they hardly sleep at Night.
Fighting their daylight Battles
and waging a War with the World.
Their Words at times hold Promise.
Alas like a stone they’re Hurled.
Words don't decay or rotten.
I read them as I lie down in Bed.
For Others they seem all forgotten. 
I'll keep reading them, till I'm Dead.

words words words
   heard them all my life

just reflections in my mind
   a distortion of time

life of my creation
   here i am now

walking forward slowly
   into a future dark

to change this time i can not
   think of what to do

'cause i am thinking outside
   though inner is the cure

time for hate is over
   hating far to long

time to create the next life
   master of the song

Your words are flowers
Blooming in interactions
Early blossoms grow

How many times,
must I fall and stumble?
Before I Kneel down
on one Knee,
in front of
the right one.

what a miracle each morning
to rediscover the symmetry of words
words in flight words in might
worlds of words submitting
to the geometry of dreams

what a miracle each evening
to feel the ripples of certain poems
in the maze of  synapses
a certainty each day I do not count
my naked body is carrying death
like an embryo of silence

what a curse what a delight
to meet myself in flesh and bones
as a road without beginning