It’s polluted. It’s nasty. It’s vile and unclean. It is worse than you can imagine. The thoughts which accompany it are so disgustingly sick that I won’t even use the words which could describe it so easily. If I spoke of a sewer running through your bath or filthy puss from an open sore gushing into your morning coffee, which would offend you more? Are there levels of sickness from the human mind that are acceptable for you to absorb? Is the filth of the decaying world to be held in great honor? Is it a banner of tolerance that you would choose to abuse and defamed the pure and the clean for a moment of pathetically cheapened humor. Which is not humorous at all but rather the antithesis. Must you impose them upon those you portend to love and appreciate? Continue reading
Because
When asked “Why?”, they say “Because,
we understand not what the Spirit does;”
“Working in hearts of some dear souls
to change the path of their chosen goals.” Continue reading
52 Weeks Once More
Why are there “fifty two weeks in each year”?
Fifty two times for Sundays to draw near
Fifty two sunsets on Saturday without fear,
Twenty six fortnights in which couplets appear.
Twelve times the moon circles for the heavenly engineer,
Four seasons of pleasures for rabbits and reindeer. Continue reading
Not Much
I’m not doing much ; it’s plain to see
Not that what others see matters to me
Still I dabble a bit and try to feel free
To not do much unless I’m hungry
Seeing there’s need is one way
To stir up a passion for another day
But when the want is not held at bay
I’m gonna need food to help me say
There’s things I rather be doing
Than waiting on cheering or booing
So while others are fuming and stewing
My “Not Doing Much” needs renewing.