How does a landed mariner ever tell a living soul about the exquisite rapture of the sultry siren’s song ? As it echoed through the mist,
Hello, can you see me here? Please, might you stop awhile. I am the one you pass by daily as you hurry homeward bound. I am that one who’s least of us.
The old priest gazes out upon his… each head bowed before the sacred… A scarred and broken bodied warrio… seeking inner peace and final abso… An elderly wealthy man of commerce…
The old man, who thinks he’s dying, approached me with these words. I am sorry
I hide here behind a genuine misbelief that I am special, I am different I and only I
My father is dead, still he speaks through me; “Don’t say anything....OR ELSE!… There was plenty of “OR ELSE!” to go around.
Your end? My end? Where the hell’s the middle? You say this. I say that.
Weep for the fallen warriors. Weep for those souls considered collateral damage. Weep for the profiteers. Weep for the deserters.
I’ve been so afraid to speak these heartfelt words. This secret has been kept so well, from myself, by myself,
A sudden gust of bitter wind from somewhere hot and foul, whooped and howled throughout the scattered waste and scrabble down that God-forsaken alley.
Time wears away at me, like water on a stone, oh, so slowly, but inevitably, drop by drop,
That cranky old mongrel hound cooped up down the alley; he ain’t got no teeth no more but he still knows how to snarl. he gets them young pups all worked…
These words, are just what they’re meant to be; for you, whatever needs they serve to stir… For me;
It seems for ages, I have been trapped behind yet another version of what I want to think I know. I was so sure I loved you
I am that scruffy urchin trembling in the winter chill, with hungry eyes as wide as your fancy dinner plate, staring with an empty longing
