This empty feeling comes and it goes,
its swift and its subtle as a vine of ivy that grows.

My emotions lay bare, naked and free,
with no attempts to hide them,
their transparent like me.

An open book for anyone to read,
my thoughts splayed wide open,
for the sadistic to feed.

My story no different from ones of the past,
sometimes its tragic and sometimes I laugh.

No different from anyone, when you cut me I bleed,
afraid of my feelings, I'm afraid of my need.

I used to know a man named Ned
from hunting years on his homestead
two hundred acres and a bit
he had inherited all of it

What fields there were were strewn with stones
as white and thick as old bleached bones
his father farmed it years ago
a hard place to make crops grow

So Ned set all the fields in pines
planting right up next to kudzu vines
which grew thick along the old field road
a dusting ground for bird and toad

Silence is uncorked…

Man we almost had it once, power I mean,
strong union men, owners heard our voices.
Sixties or seventies didn’t it almost seem,
we had a great chance a lot more choices.

This is indeed a statement political,
see I’m an angry man getting much angrier.
Forgive me, what you’ll hear isn’t analytical,
my intent, to get through your comfort barrier.

The sun lights the darkness,
The rain cleanses the earth,
As we too make the journey,
With death there is birth.
Bitter sweet memories,
Unfinished dreams,
Incomplete promises,
Life just seems cruel and mean.
It does not matter their age,
It is hard to let go,
Knowing as you hold their hand,
No longer does energy flow.
But somewhere out there they have a purpose,
In that we must trust,
They were needed elsewhere,
Not condemned to just dust.
Maybe a new angel,
Was needed in the sky,