Poetry

Coughing fit over.

Plane has landed.

We made it over the bridge.

The sun has risen.

Let us see

If the day’s

New adventures

Will Allow us

To cry our battle cry

Once more.

Not dead, Yay!

States Title boy

As he navigates the asteroids

And space debris.

He chuckles nervously.

I clutch white knuckled

And pray that we stay that way!

Work is done.

Last weekend of summer.

Official or unofficial?

Who cares.

I get to sleep in.

My words.

Creation involved.

Meaningless or thoughtful?

Does anyone care?

Sounds recorded on a page.

Ghost writer, I am not.

Coughing my lungs out.

Head pounding.

Nose dripping like a faucet.

Fever comes and goes.

At least I had a few days of fun before this laid me low.

Hurting people.

Not respecting them.

Enslaving them.

To turn around

To helping them.

Making sure laws were made

So others cannot hurt them.

All that could be said

Was a change of heart.

Moments of happiness.

Tears of sadness.

Joy and laughter.

Grumbling and swearing.

One day can bring it all.

Little blessings

Treating people kindly

May mean your day

Can go from a horrible experience

To one of knowing

That you are having a good day

Things come in threes.

Superstition says.

Sometimes I play along.

Other times a brick gets slapped into my face.

Through will alone

I will get through these troubling days.

Luck and self sacrifice

Have deserted me.

My wishes are not coming true

In the way that is the best for me.

Things will work out in the end.

I just fear it will mean I end up homeless.