I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
If politics becomes mere entertainment Along with everything else The temptation germinates and rapidly grows to vote For the strangest, most dangerous possibility
By D. J. Reddall2 years ago in Poets
As compared to my work long ago I seldom sweat now, don’t cha know? Postmodern twits love naught but gold From the day they are born ‘til they’re old
“A man appointed to be a judge has been killed without a knife.” ― Idries Shah, Caravan of Dreams When you create, do not fear the judges
If humans are free They've the freedom they can take In every sense
If these words can mean Anything their reader likes Why were they written?
All negotiations with time fail: In youth, we cannot wait for tomorrow In age, we flee from it to no avail As days pass, there are fewer to borrow
If everyone cheats All of the time, everywhere Will honor vanish?
You will know you have Slept soundly when you resent Being awakened
So many spines ache for your warm caress That of a slim, yellow novel has won For the nonce, but I suspect your largesse
I do not understand most local tales But the gossip and rumor I can get Imply that, beneath his many, bright veils About death, Utnapishtim does not fret
Camera people In the stories of our own Laughably brief lives
Perhaps, we are just The parent we liked the best Played rather poorly
