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Like a can of sardines.

Jam full to the brim of the jar.

For the long flight ahead.

Like a washboard on your abs.

Full of lies and deceit.

Packed.

And there ain’t no going back.

Going up the hill

In Autumn’s chill

I try to find the time

where I can make a rhyme

to end this darn poem.

Somehow

I simply cannot unearth the words,

So I listen to the birds.

Watching video

after video.

Reading comics.

Checking news sites.

Checking new sites.

Busying oneself

with doing anything

but the job at hand.

Living through war

Is trauma and pain.

Fleeing or fighting

is horrible and inhumane.

Yet still war happens

and fear drives us on.

Why do we hurt the innocent

who don’t know what’s wrong?

Hearts are full of sadness

and pain as we watch from afar

at the vicious game they play.

And yet tomorrow

more shells will fall

and we will watch and judge

the soldiers thrown into the giant’s maw.

It is an interesting sensation

when lotion is applied

to the dry skin

and you can just feel the moisture

returning to it.

Somedays the news is bleak.

Other days nothing is interesting.

Today is who gives a -bleep- day.

Tomorrow there will have to be another check on the meter.

She says things

that you wish were true.

She does things

that disappoint you.

Her promises are not fake

but she forgets them

once she gets what she takes

from your selfless gem.

I wish I could trust her

but like her father before

I have learned not to put

faith in the “I promise..” store.

They never end.

There is always

another chore to do.

Even on days off

You still need to clean up

After whatever activity you do.

Maybe that is why

I have never liked cleaning days

because every day is cleaning day.

I feel nothing

come to mind.

No ideas.

No inspiration.

Nothing.

My mind is blank.

So, no poem today!