different faces
same places
laughing and howling
civil natives
showing the shine
of the cursed gold
painted in the dark
beneath the bark of
the tree crooked and old
where the skeleton remains
in bones and a tounge
whispering the night
for the old and young
them lords and 'em ghosts
those chains that bind
breathing the ashes
of the dead left behind
in that cold empty corner
behind the pines and far
through the dusky road
at this lonely hour
There i sit,
there i hear
dark and gloom
loud and clear

"Sorry lift my card at home,"

"If your late again, the supervisor"
"said we are going to put you on to daily signing"!

"sorry but I am only 18 teen"


THE    ST O RY    BE  H I N D  THiS   e POEM.
It was about that time, I started to smoke
and now at 60
just came to my mind I should *stop
so took up eCigarettes to help my off*
if your thinking that, behave yourself.
so here we go
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ePoem.
This a poem within my own surrealist head
safe to read in mixed company
no second hand words
will put no smell on your breath
or your clothes
so you can read it out loud and clear
to girlfriends read to all mine
which I can count on one hand
life is pleasure
with all one of you
so as you read this, you should know
although late in life
I am surreally looking after myself.





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TRUE    STORY   P@ul.