EducationSo much to do. So little timeTo find the reason of the rhyme.To learn the who, the what, the why.To learn to life before we die.The time we spend to learn to liveDoes not time to living give.Instead of living and learning thusTo books we turn and teachers trust.He who learned as we do learn,As he was taught we take our turn.Life from the books, a scholar's world.A fragile globe from which we're hurled.Hurled into life, the unreal real.Still bound to learn but also feel.No author's words but life's own verse.Who can say if better or worse.
Passing TimeTime has stopped. The hands hang idle.The restless spirit champs at the bridle.The want to run, to romp, to playBut for now it is locked away.Wind up the clock. Push forth the hands.Lead us from this barren land.Our thirst for knowledge does over flowFor impure waters are all we know.No motion, no breeze, none in sight.Our sails hang empty. Our vessel quiet.Do not despair, it will not get worse.Class has ended as I wrote this verse.
GlassAny excuse to be nearby.To get a glimpse. To catch her eye.She looks my way but does not see.For I am glass. She looks through me.She touches him, his hand, his hair.I close my eyes. I cannot bear.Why not me? Do I ask to much?Am I glass? Am I cold to touch?I held her once. We were as one.Somehow our life became undone.Why did I think true love mattered.I am glass. Broken and shattered.
sheShe's a strong person.The strongest I know.Quiet and solid.Doubt does not show.She's my foundation.An anchor steadfast.Here in the present.No future. No past.She gives me power.Discipline. Control.Apart incomplete.Together a whole.I cannot believe The feelings that stirWhen her eyes meet mine And she says 'Yes, Sir."
SawhorseTheir ship is a sawhorse and a couple of boardsWith a broom handle mast and tree limb swords.A t-shirt sail catches a southerly breezeAnd their sawhorse ship sails make-believe seas.They face pirate attacks and tropical storms.Sail 'round the world in one single morn.Down comes the sail. Away go the swords.A new arrangement of the sawhorse and boards.Sitting on the sawhorse at each others side.Two small cowboys on a stagecoach ride.Eight invisible stallions pull at the reignsAs their sawhorse stagecoach crosses the plains.Outlaws and Indians don't stand a chanceFor on that coach are Butch and Sundance.The horses set free. The stage torn apart.Time for another adventure to start.Sawhorse in the middle with a board on each side.Under the sawhorse is where the boys ride.What is the sawhorse to be this time?The answer is known as their plane starts to climb.A sawhorse plane is what the Red Baron meets.A flying team that he will never beat.A hurried crash l
CraveShe draws me as a moth to light.The spiral turning every tight.Having her my compelling thought.Into the spiral I am caught.To feel my hand upon her skin.To know the heat that lies within.To know her touch, her smell, her sound.To know her, have her, I am bound.My carnal hunger does increaseto share with her the peak release.But these thoughts are fantasy theme.Ever will she be a salty dream.