decoding a dream
occupied the entire day
night finally came
the dream’s mystery remained
and with nighttime a new dream
Poetry
on bended knees again…
these moments will end
the laughter will become tears
the cycle of life
trump trunk sale…
this is the sale
you’ve
been waiting for
gonna have
some
nice stuff
lots of
silverware
and
plates
fine antiques
used
by
our
founding fathers
and
boxes
upon
boxes
of
top secret documents
for
you’re
viewing
pleasure
we’ve been
assured
that none
of
these
classified files
have ever
been seen
by
human eyes
secrets
that could make
you
a martyr
in
any number
of
foreign nations
so
don’t delay
head on down
to
florida
and
sort
through
these one of a kind
items
all sales
are
final
and
cash only
foreign agents
are
welcomed
government job postings…
money to be made
don’t be afraid it’s a game
we get elected
then the cash starts flowing in
from inside trading and such
like bribes i mean donations
voters don’t watch us
they just hear all our sound bites
they pay us to steal
that’s right real double dipping
it’s salary plus commissions
just for pretending to care
public service gigs
as elected officials
can make you some real money
dividends keep on coming
even when you leave office
so as i have said
forget an honest day’s work
join the elite few
who don’t work for a living
but get other’s hard earned cash
apply now at ceb
parting party guest…
so irritating
unwilling to compromise
discussing one thing
has to have the final word
death can be so damn boring
and in the end…
washed up on the beach
a permanent id card
name unreadable
the hand dealt…
there’s a time to die
we may not choose the hour
but we decide how
curled into a ball of fear
or defiantly to angst
but we all will die
there’s no miracles for death
only vague offers
of rewards and wonders for
our repentance for life’s sins
that doesn’t ease death
but shields us from some questions
we refuse to ask
there’s no need to spell them out
you’ve heard them a thousand times
that is not the point
it is more about how we
face what’s apparent
the presence of our own death
and how we play our last cards
mundane questions perhaps…
dawn lying in bed
the same questions about life
flood into the mind
was this existence wasted
what are the whys of this life
perhaps there are none just life
a flimsy excuse…
we can do nothing
it’s always been that way
we’ve tried before
perhaps the problem is
i instead of we
if you’re looking for heaven…
child
listen to me
heaven
ain’t
no place
above
the
clouds
it’s
a lover’s
warm back massage
at
the end
of
a hard day
of
labor
and
there ain’t
no
heavenly choir
that can sound
as sweet
as
those words
before sleep
whispered
by
your lover’s lips
the words
i’ll love you
forever
Read Between the Minds 