Transform seeds into a plantation
spread upon the wings of the earth
a real heaven,
where these spread
to become gold
in the markets to be sold

the greenery vast
outspread
is like an angelic beauty behold,
the eye is the judge of all things scenic
long distant grasses grow
as the sun does beckon
to see
it metamorphose
as the chlorophyll turns
from green to gold
human lives to creation are sold
as they turn seeds into fodder
in the markets
to be exchanged for gold

There it sits upon on the shelf
battered and worn
once it held the thoughts and ideas
of an intelligent man

Proudly cocked over one eye
hiding the secrets
of it's owner

Given as a gift from his children
That once held him dear
what had changed ,over the years

Only the gray fedora knows
the pain,hurt and fears
it will never show

Thoughts are gone
ideas have died
and it sits within
a grave dark and cold
much like it's owner

thirty three years ago

Hold up!
Wait there

See the people
stop and stare

standing frozen
hand in pot

cleverly guising
his shifty plot

slowly moving
trying to leave

surely he see's it
the bread in your sleeve.

Why? by RW
-
Where could all these black winds take me
They catch my wings and blow
Some times the sun sends secrets sweetly
at other times the razors show
-
though I steer I never fight it
the winds know what I need for now
at times sore racing thoughts ignite it
or else the stagnant breezes flow
-
the squall directs me to an abyss
slows to let me be a feast
to carrion crows and demon’s kiss
the mind rends from the wailing beast
-
This writing is a dangerous game