‘Holy Spit’

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You’re always on my side,
Even when I think you’re against me.
There are times when I slip then slide;
Fall straight down on both knees.

I could think that you wanted this to happen,
Or that I deserved what I got.
But that’s not how you work,
You don’t look at my quirks,
And judge them so harshly so;
You don’t trample me with blows.

You’re not holding me down,
Or watching me, passively, drown.
You’re hand has been out there,
Open,
Waiting for me to bear it.

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Last Night

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This night is our last,
And we should go out with a blast,
But we’re out of bullets, you see,
So it all comes down to me.

I heard the cock,
And felt the power.
Empty, this glock,
Fell down from our tower.

The night is still young,
But I’m calling it quits.
This tune has been outrageously sung,
It’s driving me out of my wits.

Coming Together

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The pond is calling,
And it’s asking me why I turned my back.
It reflects on my path and on my falling,
And it looks away when the blow turned into a smack.

Two worlds diverged;
I chose the lesser of the two.
Though, in tact, I emerged,
I had to draw the line at you.

Had I gone to the pond,
None of this would have spawned.
Had I gone with my gut,
This tie would have inevitably been cut.

So it’s all coming together,
Yet it’s still all up in the air.
I’ll wait for better weather;
Clearer skies.
And try to be wise.
I’ll  divert another collision.
From this fall, I will rise.

The Season of Rain

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I’ve felt the rain hit my back.
The feeling of joy,
To which I did lack.
But that season had ended,
So very long ago.
Much was to be attended,
As I waited for clouds.

The sky is clear,
As it has been for years.
Though, loud are the cheers,
I know that rain is overdue.
I don’t have to be psychic to know
That rain will find a way to come through,
As I don’t have to be insightful to see,
That joy can leave when it pleases.
There will always be problems of varying degrees.

A hopeful person would tell you that happiness is key.
A wise person would tell you that though happiness is there,
It isn’t a constant, forever present for thee.

The Bolts Within the Table

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Well-built, and made to last.

Bolts come by the dozen.

Nothing falls, and nothing cracks,

Not ever when the bolts are screwed inward.

Bolts kept it all alive;

Bolts kept everything tight.

Rust ruined its silvery encasing,

And rust painted it brown.

The table fell,

Like a mighty, full dam,

And no one was there to see it.

Yet still it made a sound.

And we felt it all around.