Sunday, March 26, 2017

KEEP WRITING






Moss grows between the keys.
They swirl around the letters.
Taking root on the keyboard.
Greenery belongs outside.
Words belong inside.
On the page.
In the book.

BLURRY






Blurry from the rain.
Fogging my window.
Pitter patter.
Rain drops falling.
I want to see the sun.
I want the fog lifted.
I want to see clearly again.

MAN LEFT BEHIND





Source:

Take a walk inside.
The dark rooms.
Musty smelling.
Cobwebs.
Cracking ceilings.
Deserted.
Damp.
See what humanity left behind.

TEARS FROM HEAVEN






The sun hits my face.
Clouds roll by.
Followed by raindrops.
Tears from heaven.
Between the sun and clouds
they fall.
Propelled by the soft wind.
They blur my vision.
Stop me in my tracks.
Cause me to look up.
To the heavens.
To the source.

PRAY FOR US




Like a cold witches’ brew.
An Oasis for all.
Now a hell for the few,
Who remain to tell all.
Warm winds turn cold
As all become prey.
The young and old. 
For them we must pray.
Hell hath no fury
Like a demon scorned.
There is no jury
For a small town mourned.
Who’ll save Oasis
From ‘The Dead’ demons?
Who will now face us,
More dead or demons?
Pray for us.
We are alone 
Come save us.
We must atone.

THE DEAD GAME

Kindlehttp://amzn.to/1lKvMrP
Nook http://bit.ly/1lFdqNj

THE PICTURE





Art comes alive with the artist’s stroke.
It bounces from the white page
in alternating shades of the rainbow.
The green eyes entice and ensnare.
The fur flows and ebbs in blues and pink.
It has stepped out from the mere page
to come alive for me and you.

THE FUTURE





What may the future hold?
A life bleak and so cold.
Buildings of concrete and stone.
Leafless trees of green foam.
Sunlight only a reflection.
Lighted sabers for protection.
A future hard to bear.
A future all too near.