"refreshed" poems
In the morning, old becomes new
Birds sing as black slowly turns blue
In the morning, my fears are taken
My faith is stronger, I am not shaken
My fears are taken by morning's rebirth
Fresh as the dew clinging to my feet
In the morning, there is a new me to meet
Whom the blinding night has deemed fit to birth
In the morning, my flaws are still the same
Like the yellow sun, everyday like flame
In the morning, I remember yesterday's mistakes
And I know better what is at stake
In the morning, I let go of the night
I let go of the dark, I embrace the light
In the morning, my eyes are brighter
My dance is better, my laugh is lighter
My smile is warmer, my kiss is softer
My hug is tighter, my speech has no stutter
In the morning, I am all I want to be
Awake, refreshed, hopeful, free
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 8:12 PM UTC
If yelling at her in an argument doesn't make your throat burn like you just downed 6 shots,
you don't love her.
If her eyes can't make you stop in your tracks and think about what you're about to say next,
you're not in love with her.
If her laugh doesn't make you tense up your knuckles thinking about never hearing it again,
you're not in love with her.
If her voice can't calm you're worst anxiety attacks and makes you want to listen to anything she has to say,
you're not in love with her.
If her smile doesn't make you're chest quake and your lungs shrink but feel refreshed all in one motion,
you're not in love with her.
If her taking off her clothes is when you pay the most attention to her, you're not in love with her.
Mar 17, 2016
Mar 17, 2016 at 11:50 AM UTC
After a nice laugh a tear rolled down my cheek
Shrek wiped it with his big green ear
Want to take a mud bath? he said grinning
sure
We went outside to the swamp and I took my clothes off
Shrek did not like this
GET OUT ME SWAMP
I ran away and cried...
I came back refreshed to the cottage
I lied down
Shrek came in and took a bite of my onion
After that I was angry I yelled at Shrek
WHY DON'T YOU EVER KISS ME
Shrek was angered by this
I went down on my knees to pray
he went to the bathroom
Donkey came in
I had mixed emotions when Donkey came in
for the first time I was in love
his big ears
his hooves
his hair
his nose
I loved every bit
last night
Mar 23, 2016
Mar 23, 2016 at 8:08 AM UTC
~
a strange place to start
having not truly begun,
already beat down by the
lowdown
own a million rose colored words,
but some assembly required,
that's when the foreknowledge truth~rules
burns brain holes
easy is never
free,
poetry writing is
cussing hard work
~
spring rains cloaking warmth,
summer's stunning sunsets
demand submissive awed silence,
autumnal leave drops anointing
your refreshed humanity,
and yet,
one more time,
it is only within winter's white bitterness
lip tasting,
million tear-shaped snowflaked words,
is the crowning visible
of the head of
a newborn babe poet
~
hard.
Capital Hard.
in the beginning,
there was one,
a first work
and the knowing,
if it wasn't hard,
it could not be
any good,
makes it possible
to ease on
down
this fearful
revelationary road
trip
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 5:15 PM UTC
Evening light is gentle, slow
Caressing leaves, metal roofs, soil
Plants, flowers, pavements and gates
Clouds are the mothers - they shield us
Lest the sun shines too much.
Take a breath and look around;
The sweet and tranquil garden will take it away.
All colour blend in synchronised harmony;
Blues and browns, pinks and whites
Crossing into and over each other like
oil paints,
Warm, welcoming, beautiful.
It is soothing - the sound of nothing
That disrupts; razes; hates
Disturbs; curbs quiet insight;
One's imagination is the lone
source of maximum sound
That vibrates through the garden.
My grandfather, my grandmother's brother,
Smiles as though the sun shines through his teeth
Dresses in a pale blue shirt
Black shorts
Both well-worn
Ready to play
some basketball.
Oh, the joy, the fun
The refreshment arising from this game in a courtyard
In grandfather's garden
Among young trees, leaves and other green growth.
There stands a home by hand made
Basketball stand,
A concrete base with metal support hands
Floppy strings of hoop
To shoot the ball into.
The garden has been bathed, it is fresh
It is refreshed.
Grandfather demonstrates, I listen and follow,
To throw the ball into the hoop
With precision and care; throw some force
Into the air.
The ball dances around the circle
then drops to the concrete floor.
We take turns
As I throw and grandfather returns
9/10 of the time my aim's bad
but the ball grandfather throws, I actually catch!
(Or it will tumble on wet soil)
Exciting, the thumping
of rubber ball against ground;
Keen eyes and agile hands and feet
To catch the stray ball;
With swift movements the ball flies!
From sideways, afar and near,
Into the hoop successfully, finally.
Back into the house we go,
As the sun leaves for home.
The garden prepares for night;
So do grandfather and I;
Grandfather washes up; I talk to
Grandmother in the garden;
waiting for night, to
fall
fall
fall,
into infinite darkness -
poignant memories
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 5:05 AM UTC
Like a toddler taking maiden steps
The narrow stream moves through the woods
Tripping and falling over pebbles and boulders
Chiming its silver anklets
Forcing itself in irrepressible flow
It thrusts and shoves its way down
Through thickets and a line of ferns
And the tangle of creepers and thorny brambles
Drowning the whisper of bamboo leaves
Its sweet murmur falls in my ears
As an eternal living melody
The cosmic song heard over eons
As the water sluices down the rocks
It becomes a frothing braided torrent
Producing a harsh grating roar
Like the crescendo of a tribal symphony
There it forms into a small pool
With its waves gently rippling
Where birds merrily come to take a dip
And sunning their feathers, fly back refreshed
Sometimes travelling unseen
It suddenly emerges into the open
Cutting its way through cracks and fissures
Never willing to surrender before hurdles
With a bearing immaculate in grace
It sends out waves of pure delight
What joy it is to watch the dilly dally
Of this sedate pilgrim moving to its destination
May 9, 2016
May 9, 2016 at 10:07 AM UTC
I rest my head in the dusky hours
early in the hope I'll awaken refreshed
instead in the lonely hours
at 2am, 3am and 4am
my body rests
while my mind races with complex thought
caught somewhere between sadness and complacency
the past present and future merging into one
clashing and colliding
confusing
working hard into the night
sending my heart to palpitations.
I close my eyes and the words I see written on my ceiling
are engrained on the insides of my eyelids
crawling with the spiders
I overthink instead of sleep
I dream in my conscious state
of what could've been
what is
and what might be
restless in a state of exhaustion
lucid in a state of total consciousness
hopeless to stop the relentless tide of my imagination
from rotting my brain inside and out
ruining any faith I have in a night of sleep
or a day of clarity and competence.
The thoughts leave when I rise again at 7am
as planned
with the chiming of the bells on the nightstand
my head snaps into reality again
focus returns in the form of routine
get up, go
move on, mend.
Distracted and oblivious
my lack of sleep haunts me
until I repeat this dull cycle again tonight
I live my nightmares in the lonely hours
at 2am, 3am and 4am.
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 9:08 AM UTC
The Washing machine that fits comfortably in a backpack
It means being prepared and not in lack
Your clothes will be clean like a tack
The mission is too carefully pack
Take the portable miniature washing machine wherever you go
Your ***** clothes you won’t have to show
The true clean puts you in the know
Turn hiking dirt into a kirk
The refreshing clean with the assistance of detergent Mr. Clean
***** cleans will become lean
Tough on stains and dirt with after being clean
Hike up any trail and mountain being confidence
Refreshed clothes as your testimony in instance
Pack that portable washing machine and let it turn your hiking experience into endurance
Convenience in the wilderness
Outdoor clean in the happiness
The stains that will come out
Add another detergent of Shout
Now that’s what I am talking about.
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 5:11 AM UTC
I think I'll go for
A disco nap
A nap inside a disco?!
you wonder.
No it's just a little
afternoon snooze
to avert the rising
tide of blues
And put my dizzy
thoughts asunder.
A little period of rest
will I hope
bring out my best
allow my mind to
float and dream
of fairytales
And seas that gleam
And when I wake
at a time that suits
I'll be refreshed
Ready to disco
In ***** boots!
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 3:20 PM UTC
for Alyssa Underwood
~~~
my poems do not trend, go viral,
Fast and Furious!
yet, they do not die
they lay in plain sight pebbles scattered,
smoothed by time,
upon the surface of the
green earth waiting patient, virtuous,
purposed for itinerants bards
to trip over one
one some someday
somehow they accrete a readership,
slow stepping and steady from,
|the seekers and the stumblers,
the droplet drinkers,
meanderers of the tomes and tombs of prior years,
miners for nuggets in the poem pools that form
beneath the alluvial streaming
of the waterfall crescendo
of words
I like this
when another traveler sends me a like,
a petite amuse-bouche bite of appreciation,
for a long ago, barely recalled, writ,
allowing them to carve their initials upon the
external, visible roots of my tree trunk,
invading me, by darkening a prior tree internal ring,
forcing me to look down,
look back,
take measure of myself,
accepting myself as not wanting,
nor lacking in other's acceptance
these statements are neither boastful or illusory,
*yet still joyous, like caramel pleasures,
slow to chew, fast to the taste,*
reminding me of old friendships,
well valued,
though no longer fully employed,
their uncovering is my own refreshed exposure,
their discovery is my own re-discovery,
exposing flaws and fallacies,
even fallow,
mostly shallow facts
about me
all of them,
a sundae of truths and lies, sharing a happy laugh
with and at
me,
when I think to myself,
Holy Crap! did I write that?
copyright 2015 by Nat Lipstadt
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 3:35 PM UTC
I drank once,
from the deep well of sleep
when cool waters refreshed this parched earth,
now barren without nourishing dreams.
My worries grow futile shoots
in the hardpack, they wither and die.
Ashes scattered dryly
fuel further frets.
This drought is not over.
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 11:10 AM UTC
I bet you never got to know
That I wasn't always depressed
I was always narcoleptic
Every time I told you I didn't feel good and couldn't see you
I wasn't depressed
I was narcoleptic
That message in March
Where you said you even loved when I was so depressed I couldn't get out of bed
I was narcoleptic
I couldn't help it
People never understand, it's like how you feel when you've been up for days
I was narcoleptic
I could sleep 12 hours
And not feel refreshed, because my sleep doesn't heal me, like it heals you and others
I was narcoleptic
I know I took those stimulants
But they made me edgy and nervous, and I turned into a **** so I didn't take them but
I was narcoleptic
You see, those stimulants, Vyvanse
Made me feel like I'd been up for days but running on 2 pots of coffee because
I was narcoleptic
A man who has been up for days
Is not often the most polite and I hated being impolite so I stopped taking them but
I was narcoleptic
So I spent my days sleeping
Sleeping till noon, then needing to sleep at 3 PM, until 10 at night and then until noon because
I was narcoleptic
Your stepdad said he wouldn't stand for that "crap"
But I couldn't help it, I wanted to see you more than anything and I knew it hurt you but
I was narcoleptic
Not only am I narcoleptic
I think I have fibromyalgia just like my grandmother, who loves you too, I think,
I have fibromyalgia.
Today I'm still narcoleptic with fibromyalgia
But I've found a cure, a mix of two pills, one for the narcolepsy and one for the pain
One pill is designed for nothing but narcolepsy (not ADHD) and the other a narcotic for the pain
You'd have no idea how much better I feel than I did before
You'd have no idea because you don't care to learn who I am
Because I'm not who I was, I'm refreshed, something new, I'm normal for once
Not just feeling bad, not just tired and sore and fatigued, not so depressed I can't get out of bed
Just narcolepsy and fibromyalgia.
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 2:29 PM UTC
*He makes me smile when
all I want to do is cry at times.
He makes me wonder
how did I become so blessed,
even thou I been
blessed a long time ago,
I just didn't know,
joy burst forth from my lips
as a giggle escape cause of
something he recently did!
He makes me stay on my toes
& he makes me feel so whole,
love isn't ever pose to hurt
but I hurt'ed mightily for him
& for him too,
to think I went through it all
and came out clean,
refreshed & brand
spanking NEW!
He makes me smile
&
He makes me laugh!
The power of children
&
a mothers love can
do wonders
for your soul!
it's a gift God
'can only give-
Twins!
Always me Ayeshah*
Dec 29, 2010
Dec 29, 2010 at 2:30 AM UTC
I know you are part of my destiny
So I haven't cried as much over our separation
True, I did cry an ocean of tears
But not so many to drown the grounds I stand upon
I said words of frustration
And whispered cries of surrender and desertion
But I am open to emotions and those words allowed release
-But- what I suggested in heated state of mind was just that
Suggestions, not proclamations nor plans
You know I tend to submerge myself in evil waters
In order to rise from them with strength even greater
Those shouts you may or may not have heard were the waters I was wading
And now, I am back to the heavens with a heart more unbreakable
Refreshed and replenished with the purity of home air
I remain sure of the decision I made that day
Don't worry, I am still certain of my true love for you
No- More certain of everything
I guess it took all those months to realise it
I needed to break down in strengthening
To lead the way to the point of exhaustion
Because now, it's your turn to stand ahead
As I deep down predicted, my words did not gain action
Although reactions were clearly achieved
Though words were controlled and questions avoided
Your eyes that trick you, are as always unable to deceive me
I guess what I am trying to express
Is my undying true love for you
My heart is unbroken, despite what I said
Still holding you within, still cradling our infants to come
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 2:07 PM UTC
I went down to watch the ocean this morning - well, Long Island Sound anyway. My last chance for a while, classes start tomorrow. I wonder sometimes how I can be refreshed by that gray, drizzly, melancholy harbor - locked in winter’s intemperate grip - but I am.
The salty air seems thicker and richer, the sky bigger and wilder. There’s the relaxing sound mix of wave and gull. The ugly brown pelicans bickering like old, married couples, as a lone fisherman, in his yellow macintosh slicker, sorts his boat lines under the watchful, hopeful, hungry eyes of floating black-backed gulls.
Maybe I should become a sailor? Besides, I hear it’s a great way to meet guys.
Jan 24, 2022
Jan 24, 2022 at 10:51 AM UTC
There was a girl.
A girl I once knew
who never felt cold.
Never felt cold when
taking a shower in
freezing water.
Never felt cold
when she would stand
at the bus stop in 6
degree weather with barely
anything on. Never felt
the slightest bit of cold
even when she layed down
in the snow for 5 hours.
In fact, she loved the cold.
She embraced it; she loved how
cold the winter was in
Michigan. She loved feeling
the icy wind hit her face and
body when she wasn't wearing
much. She loved the
way it made her hands and face feel
anesthetic . It made her feel alive, refreshed
even, and
that’s all she ever craved for.
But she still never
felt how cold it actually was.
But why?
Why did she love
it that much?
Why couldn't she ever
feel frigid like everyone else?
Why love something,
something you cant really feel?
Because even though she couldn't
feel how shivery cold
it was on the outside,
maybe that’s how her heart
was. Maybe that’s how
she felt on the inside.
Numbing cold.
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 6:16 PM UTC
Gathered pieces of a great puzzle ;
refreshed perspective like ocean riptides
foment at the confluence collecting dark rivers’ flow
Repurposing back-eddies ,
rejuvenation of stagnant brackish waters ,
inherent buried soul-shine purging
from the ancient core of earth mother
Light arising from the hidden depths
of inner stillness as if a refilling wellspring
burst forth , reawakening muted sighs unspoken
Forming poetic constellations of black and bright
to lighten afar the nebulous darkness ,
a sea of swirling ink transformed into poetry
A sage opus renewed
by the muse of a migrating flock ,
striving to discover new sacred grounds ;
yet there is an undeniable song sung
in the howling winds of change
An incitement from a higher dialect
that empowers a restoration of spirit
Oeuvre uplifted by rogue waves
of summoning winds ,
arousing that which time erases
A manifest renaissance
among the rousing nuances
of poetic continuum ,
judicious to rediscover
the enthralling vastitude
of every breaking wave
in a boundless sea of poesy
Where prevailing currents
stir oceans of verse eternal ;
provoking a verve revival ,
the magnitude of an unbroken circle ,
ocean swells merging singularity
with the omnipresent colour
of uncharted depths
As if thoughts are assuaged
by a union of intimately touching souls
with words of intangible spheres ,
sparking subtle shades of meaning
spanning poetic immortality
Transcending barriers of unexplored lexicon
to manifest the immensity,
enkindling rhapsody of hearts and minds
Deeply rooted soul replenishment
harvested from the tree of humankind ,
willingly sharing without regret nor intention ,
with deference to the soul of one-blood,
one-love enabling an enlightening
metamorphosis of the human journey ...
© harlon rivers ... all rights reserved
Jan 20, 2017
Jan 20, 2017 at 11:48 AM UTC
*blondes, brunettes and redheads,
the goodbye colors of the
street's tree choir members
and their leafy gowned denizens,
the good stiff chill upon them,
the selfsame chill
in my anguished mind
now hiding,
sing a comfort food song
heard above the quiet terror of the
noises of a fall winters-wind precursor
"once we green,
once we were renewal,
life everlasting emblems
once,
you were wee,
green uncaring and free,
presuming that you too,
were in possession of
life everlasting
your colors have changed as well,
endless is the process,
only slower than
a tree's scheduled maintenance,
moreover,
returning you to your first
crayon drawing youth
unlike us, an impossibility
we will turn young again
for many seasons more,
you
never will
new eyes will feast upon our
glories refreshed and love our
cast shade cast
yet special are you the man,
poet who was chosen
to see and tell,
witness to our resurrection,
during our overlapping,
parallel continuum in time
when to the shade of hades
you physic sent,
our limbs, our leaves,
our perennial lives,
for-as-long-as-they-shall-last,
will cover thy remains and
give your poems back to the
sultry summer breeze from
whence they came
and the colors
of your words
will be the colors
of a free life everlasting"*
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 12:43 AM UTC
Once upon a very old time,
In a perfectly ordinary forest,
Created solely for my words in rhyme,
There lived a very smart tortoise, modest and earnest.
In this same forest of the mind,
There lived a vivacious hare,
She was so stunning, all animals she could spellbind,
And wherever she went, she spread love in the air.
It so happened that the tortoise, our protagonist,
Found himself having an intimate crush
On the hare and if you get my drift,
He wanted to live a life with her, lavish and lush.
So he decided that to her he would propose,
And try to woo her with his intelligence and brains,
To marry her was his ultimate purpose,
He would surely convince her of his pros and gains.
But to his utmost horror, she rejected him downright,
And looked at him in pure disgust,
“no”, she said, “ you can’t win my love’s right,
because it is not for you that I lust.”
But persistent, and smart, he threw a challenge of love,
To her straight to the face,
“will you agree to marry me, my pure white dove,
if ever I beat you in a race?”
The hare agreed readily to the proposition,
Amused to think she could win without a care,
Alas, she didn’t know what the tortoise knew about the situation,
For he had read the story of the tortoise and the hare.
As soon as the race started, away she zipped,
While the tortoise slowly followed behind,
“He’s lost!”, she thought, “ his cream has been whipped!!...”
but the tortoise had something else in mind…
Half way through the race the hare began to tire,
“Oh!” she thought, “for the tortoise I’m still way far ahead…”
so into the hollow of a tree she did retire,
to have a nap in nature’s comfortable bed.
She was still sleeping blissfully when the tortoise reached her,
And saw her asleep in the hollow,
He could have won the race and won his love so dear,
But though he had knowledge, his mind was narrow.
“She’s the girl I love”, he thought,
we should be on equal terms, I shouldn’t get an unfair chance,
and without any fortitude and forethought,
he took a rash decision without a second glance.
“hey! Wake up! The race is still on! Don’t stop!”
his bellowing voice awoke the hare,
she nimbly bounded away, refreshed from the pitstop,
leaving the tortoise to stand and stare.
Obviously, the tortoise lost and well,
What happened after, I know not,
I hear he spent the rest of his life brooding in his shell,
But all this teaches an important lesson about love, does it not???
Nov 5, 2010
Nov 5, 2010 at 10:38 AM UTC
there was no poem neath my pillow
no poem on my tongue, none from eye envisionaries, no dew gift from my grassy emissaries, parting residue of an unknowable finger touch
nothing stirring, the mother muses mushing their shushing noises,
only breathy quietude, an airy surround sound tissue,
the cadence of intermingled hearts, the mother and the child
two awakenings, one instantaneous, the other restless unhurried slow, but within an impatience to intersect,
the overlap is love stars crossing,
impatience weaponized to make
momma aware her companions refreshed status,
a needy for love’s suckling,
embrace of fresh baked smiles from hot heartedly hearth furnaces
thus a-born a new poem, a welcomed well coming, in words,
the alliance of alliterated words from the interlacing of the mother’s chest heaving and the sniffling joy of a five year old boy reimagining the dreams that crossed from mother to son, and back again, requiring composition and joint authorship of them
*the only and only true authentic authorship,
mother and child, their owned unique
duality of singularity*
Feb 7, 2019
Feb 7, 2019 at 2:30 PM UTC
Maybe it's been written
somewhere in the constitution
of the waning moon
― When somebody loves you,
you can never be lonely ―
But, appearances
to the contrary,
the moon is sometimes blue;
***counting stars alone
in a sky full of stars***
is just about as lonely
as 'once in a blue moon'
can be ―
Like when the night is yours alone
or feeling alone
in a crowded room
hearing Hank Williams moan within your silence
"I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry"
― When it's hard to say
you love someone,..
but it's harder to say
when you don't ―
• • •
A coyote's pleading howl
breaks the silent twilight engulfing trance
cast by the dappled moonlight;
like there's some kind of lonely madness
swallowing him whole,..
as
these two hollow eyes
gaze out through
the chilly,
sobering
refreshed
Autumn air
spilling
in through
the open window,
***counting stars ― alone
in a sky full of stars***
the crackle of the fireplace
echoes, startling the silence
of a feigned warmth
from the other side
of an otherwise hollow room
and i feel frayed as a hole in an empty pocket with nothing left to lose
the impending dark winter nights are lonesome
and linger longer than before ...
seeing the empty space beside me
I remember how it really really aches to just be ...
***lonesome as a blue moon ― ***
✩ ✩ ✩
✩ ✩ ✩
✩ ✩
☽
moonless ― rivers ... 2017
Oct 18, 2017
Oct 18, 2017 at 7:21 PM UTC
In this tangled web of energies
emerges truth ,
lined with golden love.
Tentacles grasp and hold,
striving to keep smiles alive and well.
Forcing back negative entities.
We rebel primal ways,
expanding facets of creativity
To push forth,
To push off,
To find yourself somewhere in between.
Sunken in the sidewalk’s crevasse.
***** and beautiful, the lotus blooms in harmony
We’re here waiting;
seeking.
Trying to balance this chaos we’ve created.
Calming minds and steadying tides,
the ocean pulls by Luna’s force.
The subtle aspect,
when we have no control.
The moon rises.
Bending blood;
bending minds, bending emotions.
All subjected to planetary reactions
and protractions.
Measured by our willingness to flow.
Desperately trying to find solace.
We cave.
We faulter, and give in to the moonlight.
Taking in all it has to offer
and becoming reborn within the sun.
A new birth in the light.
Refreshed and retrieved,
we emerge from our reckless physicality
and burst through in spirit.
Gods.
Beings.
Light bodies.
Humans.
Tangible, broken and beautiful.
Jan 3, 2013
Jan 3, 2013 at 4:39 AM UTC
Fever-flushed children and
Broken bodies
Litter hospital halls like so much
Human refuse
….Wondering why
their need for care is treated so tepidly by a
Society which worships
Profits
Power and
Prestige
….Waiting while
they wallow in anguish as
Privacy
Paperwork and
Payment are
Debated by bureaucrats in cubicles
….Wanting to be refreshed and
restored to some measure of usefulness
….But
Free to Pursue Life on their terms in exchange for
Silence
Acceptance and
Despair
Huddling for warmth and in
Fear of discovery
they assemble in rag-tag formation
having scaled formidable fences
Seeking freedom from
Poverty and oppression
Searching for work of any sort
….No matter how
Humiliating or
Hard
….No matter the
Cost or
Conditions
Disparaged and despised they labor
in hope that their children will have a chance for success
instead of suffering a similar fate
…..But
Free to Pursue Liberty
in a land where their presence is
Ignored if not Denied
Unkempt in camouflage
One-legged and
Vacant-eyed
he rolls his rickety wheelchair along grassy median with muted effort
displaying cardboard sign
childishly scripted
in one weather-worn and gnarled hand
while clutching a decapitated jug in the other
Forgotten
Forlorn, and
Discarded veteran
Victimized far more by country than foe
….But
Free to Pursue Happiness while
Begging on street corners as
Upright citizens dispense
Unwelcome opinions or
Pocket change with equal
Self-righteousness
Life
Liberty and the
Pursuit of happiness….
Ideals that slowly incinerate on the
Altar of Capitalism
….Songs forever lost in the
Cacophony now
Played on the
Instrument of Politics
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 7:17 PM UTC