How vulgar are "thoughts and prayers"
To the victims of gunshots and tears.

The thoughts of apes and vultures
Salute the laws of savages
With prayers that spit at grief.

We wail from our skulls,
Wail from our bowels.

They call the bullets "rounds",
They call those bleeding "hit",
And call the dead as "down",
Like children in a playground
Of whimsical massacres.

BIRTH LIFE LOVE AND DEATH* Birth life and love ere death... is all there is to existence
ALL KNOW AS NO ONE CAN DENY having seen a dead rat
Blld*

Age is just a number,
But wisdom identifies one’s act.
Age reveals a long living,
Wisdom clarify one’s learning .
it's the nature of life

Don’t uncertainly declare,
For it is not a liar…
It’s always right.
Age can’t be cheated,
But some people are mendacious to themselves.
The time is set when we are born,
There is no bargain.

Slowness endemic
Corruption is systemic
State epidemic

FEELINGS........

I feel his touch
In the dwindling heat of the setting sun
In the heavy fragrance of flowers bright
In the soft feel of the cool evening breeze

I feel his touch
In the flickering twinkle of a thousand stars
In the soft light of the half moon
In the gentle waves of calm seas

I feel his touch
In the unending paths leading to nowhere
In the warm beat of a lonely heart
In the undulating sway of dancing shadows

We don't need words
as I pour my essence into you
we don't need to touch
all I have to do is be
exist, and you bleed art
this coexistence of ours
tiring but intoxicating

Slowly and surely
as candle melts,
I begin to fade into the night
as I have spent my days in your sight
with zilch to offer
death beckoning

Oh yes, let us rest
As I fall off the face of earth

No ego to devour
you are not as young
as I thought you would be
an angel composing silently
such exotic poetry

The men's hearts will bleed
they dare not compare
with the soul you set free
they will not bend a wee bit
in a beloved red wagon
their ego,
will them alone swallow
when they come to know
that compared to your
love, lust and passion
minus their love
they are seemingly
not so shallow

No morality
Dealing with duplicity
Loss of Sovereignty

Slowly I walk beneath tall oaks
their crowns at least one hundred feet high.
Their size and age almost chokes
all sunshine from the clear blue skies.

With each breeze the acorns fall
thus confirming time of year
when trees drop their mast and all
and antlers harden on buck deer.

The summer heat? mere memory
with hard frosts approaching fast
via, perhaps, this wind now cooling me
shaking the acorns loose at last.