I am back sitting on the old chair, in the porch in the backyard, pondering about life and things to come, of the ways of the world so wicked and wrong, of the good laughter and warm hugs

It’s rightly so, as we had dispatched many of them from their physical existence. We had fed well and the euphoria surfaced in our song to Luna.

Into the forest of despair we go Where death is a sweet release In this world of rebellion Will we ever know of peace? And my pounding heart Slams against my chest

Getting old

humanity is on a precipice...

The past walks among us, Lives our life for us, Betrays the present, Like nobles the peasant, And strikes the day down blind. (The grind Of past wretchedness:

A log cabin in the Amazon tells its tale of unfortunate love while they, standing before it, look on unsympathetically. The sky is crushing them and they will never know it.

You stop me from being Blind to the world, unseeing, And all my hate consorts with your being, And anger sparks, me bereft of seeing An ill consumed wind between us,