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I can't lose these thoughts
stuck in the back of my head.
Thoughts so perverse of me
they might wake the dead.
Words come out so fast,
I try to write them all down.
I must look, if you could see,
like a terrible, grotesque clown.
Please dear Lord, I ask for help,
when you hear this prayer,
for I am lost and now alone
in this cold, cold Winter air.

A box of words, stood alone,
high up on the shelf.
Words that had been used before
in another way or else,
some that were always hidden,
never being brought to light.
For they were forbidden words,
to be kept locked up tight.
Mean and cruel words, they were
causing heart ache, when
used in strings, almost everywhere.
What words are they, I hear now?
Blasphemous words, you say to me.
Well please explain how,
the words I love to write with Pen,
on a ruled, bound up book,
when I am writing now,
the last time I did look.

I don't know you,
so I should not care,
if your life is
filled with love or despair.
Realistically, I do
think about you,
for my compassion
and empathy, every day,
is to pray for your Soul
in my own unique way.
You can't be here
surrounded by laughter,
when every day there
is a new World disaster.

Across the fields of golden grain,
among the rolling hills in view,
I feel the warmth on my back
as the Sun comes into view.
On this late Fall day,
I am in my truck, a 39 Ford,
ready to move close to the Combine,
that will soon be harvesting
the heads of golden wheat.
Driving along side, with grain filling
the truck bed, while the Combine
discharges the wheat stalks or chaff
out its back.
We stop just ahead, as I have
a full load. Drive out from the
field, over rutted ground to the
Main road, then back to town
where the Grain Elevator is.
I get in line, waiting my turn,
then on the scale to weigh my load.
Up to the elevator, where I use
my levers to raise up the bed
and dump out the wheat. It goes
down through the grate and into
storage to await processing.
The truck bed now empty,
I've dumped my whole load.
Back to the highway, then to the field,
as I repeat this task once more with ease.
Happy am I at the age of sixteen.

Hello, my lovely,
I said to her,
for her beauty
my heart did stir
and small talk poured
from my mouth.
As I rambled on,
with thoughts all gone,
as if numbed by Gin
and when no sound,
came from her lips,
I took a look, again
and found that I
had been talking to
an attractive mannequin.

Repeat

Your avatar
Loy • 01/10/2018 at 10:41PM • Like

:)

A flashing of light
across the night takes
takes me back to those
days when Searchlights
galore would brighten
your mind that a
new store was opening.
No TV, to speak of,
a limited choice,
to watch Kukla, Fran and Ollie,
followed by Stan Borenson
and perhaps some news.
One channel, King 5
was what I recall
with fuzzy black and white
pictures, no color at all.

The light in the window,
The wind as it sighs,
Reminds me of you
And the look in your eyes.
Your Soul is very precious,
Asking the questions of "Why's.
Why am I the
Way that I am?
Does my answer mean
I'm less than a man?
I care about you
And say every day,
What can I do
To take the emptiness away.

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