Wise and wistful Njal    perched pleasantly in the heart of Iceland
Vengeance victory and voluptuous vial veined through Flosi    Njal as innocent as an infant
His demeanor held neither mediocrity nor morals    but rather an emotion enthralled ego
Cooled cinders clog Flosi's heart to a stone    To unfurl the expression in an utmost barbaric action
He recollects ways to reclaim rotten ridden revenge   pondering upon which way will win
In one breath of fiery hell Flosi embarked his plan    a sheepish grin gambled graciously on his hard face
The house engulfed in silk flames of scarlet    the blood curdling cries of children never ceased
Onyx hazes of smoke of smoke danced on the top of the roof    taunting the flames to devour more
Flosi's eyes excitedly enlightened in excitement    his perilous plan appeared promising
He laughed lively at the feat   the hysterical hollers of children was suddnely muted
Several silent minutes passed    spirits of ashes resurrected from the charred house
The air was stale    sparse dull life clinged to hold its existence
Bleached black bones held close to each other in a cluster   combusted cloth clothed the cluster
Two tiny tinged skeletons lay in heavy heaps    almost as if they were holding hands
But no longer did the embrace last  no longer did the home host habitability
This sadistic outcome shed no tears for Flosi   he enjoyed the revolting wrath of revenge ever so
He shadowed over the remains of bones and timber   boastfully bubbling blissfully in excitement
kicking the bones like dry dirt   Flosi continued to walk around the ash ridden land
His leather boots crisping in the hot coals   his callused hands thrusting in the air expressing victory
He beaconed a shrill of success   tears trembling down his face
Flosi has won   revenge has ridden him once more

The man behind the window,
Watches the religious preachers pass,
"Oh no, not again..." he worries,
"Now what will they ask?"

He hides as if they do not know,
He ignores the world outside,
He stays silent and distant,
No, he isn't home, he denies.

The sound of his door-bell can be heard throughout his whole house,
This time it's louder than usual, like a cat yeowl to a mouse.

He stays put for one moment, then two, then three,
What he least expected was a knock now,
"Oh, please just let me be".
He was a good man, but his mind was his own,
But ****** would he be, to ignore another mans right to a speech.

Religious or solicitor, neighbor, family or friend,
He just couldn't help it, a voice was a voice to appreciate in the end.

Carefully he opened, the great, white door,
And there stood a couple, with a smile so genuine, not fake for sure.
"Hello! We are preachers of God's great word,
Would you care to listen please, Sir?"

Minutes was passed and the man listened closely,
He wasn't much of a religious follower,
He didn't understand what those words or verses mean.
Still he listened, to much of his own surprise,
He felt a sense of happiness, and no, he didn't have to lie.

He lived in great misery, alone, angry and afraid of the world,
He had grown irritable and distrusting,
His mind a constant bustling.

But to have a company, despite what he had been told,
Such religous faces, were not evil or cold.
They made him feel comforted, and to his surprise a sense of hope,
For a moment he felt his hands hold on tighter, to the end of his own rope.

When finally they finished they spoke softly,
"Sir would you be intersted, in perhaps a bible study?"
For a moment he considered it, but suddnely his thoughts came back,
They came upon him so quickly, like a startled heart-attack.

"You will have to excuse me, I must be going now..."
With that he closed the door, without another sound.
The couple confused, only turned silently and left,
While the man had slumped down against the door, a sad, tragic mess.

For you see he had felt hope, happiness, and a sense of great peace,
Whether that was from two people alone or spirtuality.
But somewhere inside him, the voices screamed out loud:
"You don't deserve God or anyone..."
He was hurt and blinded in a dark black cloud.

He sat and sobbed, for he felt it was unsafe to take anything or care,
"Who am I to anything in this world?
I don't deserve anything, not even God should want me here.
I am not worth that salvation, or a knock from anyone,
Not even Christ himself should love me or my "blood".
I have no family, friends or job of any kind,
Please, just let me be preached by the only church that is my mind."

I still do not understand,
How someone who once loved you,
More than life itself,
Can suddnely be so unendlingly,
Cruel

To suddenly be old
It came so suddenly one day I woke and was old
I thought it was never going to happen.
To be old is ok up to a point, but the body is falling apart
I walk with a cane now, constant pain when walking unaided.
I have lost my sense of humour nothing is funny,
What made me laugh has turned into shrug about the idiocy
Of humans. We see this clearly when a British troops board
An Iranian vessel, after request, by the USA it is laughable
How they want a war that has no reason other
Then revenge when Iranian students took over the American
Embassy in 1976, it is sniggering funny, I am not laughing as
the world faces another calamity, a war that will hit us all.
Brexit is a hoot the British elite at its worst; it lacks dignity
When incompetent politicians fight for power, do anything
To avoid Corburn getting to control and destroy
The elite’s little earners, I shrug we have been here before
And it is not funny.