How is it?
You pull and take—
yet under your control
we barely find, not make,
tomorrow, so slim,
my heart tries to keep
rhythm within, do you…
know why we cry?
Mama?
Um, yes, forgive me,
I ask, as you dance
across the sky.
Mama
Poetry
Death, and My Whimper
Go to hell,
enjoy it he said.
Umm, ok.
I will if you insist.
Beware,
he cautioned,
others have been so smug.
Yes, I know.
They have taught me well.
Who do you think you are?
I am just a poor man.
Then why do you bother me so?
Oh my good friend Devil,
Don’t cha know,
I have beauty in my veins.