Thursday Morn the 27th


Night Portrait, Man w/Goldfish (stained glass)


Or something in that order

Almost the end of Month number two

Marching steadily, quickly away

Hoping that spring it soon will pursue


Punished with side stepping seasonal puns

After a night fizzled away, once quickly begun

Then tortured with unrelenting belches

And blue spotted dreams on the run


Oh yes, not pictures or stories

To sparkle, ripple up the slumber cycle

 I get sharp tortures of hidden accounts

 cutting sword like bloody Saint Michael


Just like gas emitted like farts

The holy land tri-faith angel of wrath

Seems to want to destroy my sleep

Stabbing harshly a post mortem bloodbath


It seems that little vision tickets

Of daily worries, bitches, daily news

Have jumped inside my noggin so sharp

To curdle and mold my positive views


it seems not just our nation has fallen

Taking us out of the living into our bedroom

With greed and violence a daily madness

Instead of spring flows chasing the doom


Oh, let the stories begin to shine

With hope and strength we will regain

And keep greed and hatred off

Out of hearts not viciously insane

We can regain that positive pace

Guide us back to the human race

Not of greed, blood and disgrace

Open wide heart and eye to love face to face


©j.m. frase-white 26 March 2025 @ 5:30 am

 

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