Wrong 

You think you are always fair
you think that you always care,
how could you be wrong ?

You're convinced, that you'r not the violent type
Always passive
don't believe the hype, you are wrong
 

Upstanding ,all the live long day,
the humanist one,
welcoming

You're sometimes aggressive, selfish, 
Even moody.
You could even say stubborn.
face it you are human

Won’t someone flip
The light switch
In this dark room

Time to leave my manners
In the same closet
That a politician hides truths

My smile was the cripple
That threw his crutches
And fell on the concrete
'Till he could walk again

Pity was a prostitute
That left before
Daybreak

I'm swinging fists at misery
'Till she loses consciousness
I grew sick to my stomach
Of that bitch’s nagging

At Christmas time,
The windows close
And fog out
The chilly clime.

The stars in the sky,
Are burning and bright.
The children are warm
And cozy inside,
And the little match girl
Is left out to die.

Far too many are the ones
with whom I'll walk no more
will they again see setting suns
having reached that other shore?

I wonder if they e're look back
to this side of the sea
or if they even have the knack
of giving thought to you or me

It's getting pretty crowded there
as I advance slowly with age
and loved ones here become more rare
on this side of the page

Sitting on a flowerpot.
Playing his guitar.
Saluda River Blues on the breeze.
Feeling like a garden gnome.

He keeps losing that E
Buggar!

Harmonics ring out.
Micro-elephant sings - albeit a little off key.
But what is pitch, anyway?
Just an aesthetical interpretation of the fallible.

Just one parting thought - lest I
sound too philosophical: Alpaca!

(see below for motivation and focus)

So you rode the magic carpet
And you sailed above the skies
You were taken by the beauty
You were blinded by the lies
As you soared up through the heavens
You could sense the angel’s sighs
They had seen into your future
And they witnessed loves demise
Now you head towards disaster
With no one to hear your cries
As you cling on to your memories
And the cold wind burns your eyes

The ordinary day
grey sky incumbent
peels off its mask,
it is raining
on the sepia-covered earth,
one lonely pansy
standing against
all this end-of-December harshness
yellow-as-the-sun with life,
fearless in my window box
against all my hopelessness.

Without you, loneliness.
Without you, unplowed fields of sorrow.
With you, a discovery
that life is better,
so much better
than without you.

"I'm jittery"
a sigh
and sharp cold
sunlight falling
from the gentle
swell of cheek
like a golden
tear

collapse in
a seizure
an ivory ragdoll
dance
of death defying
detrium

the television
recites its pitch
throwing the phantom
glow and its rich
voice across us
huddled like crash
survivors on faded
carpeted landscape

"ffffffttttt!" you murmur
stirring limbs

~

In a most, colorful shade of brightness
on a winternoon;
with the shadows hardly bothering, at all;

the air's got a bite
as day ready's for night,

causing mercury levels to fall.

~

There's this chilliness inside the brightness
on a winternoon;
continuing to persist, to convince;

on a journey, Sol goes
causing shadows to grow,

one can watch Sol retreat, if one squints.

~