When Questions Burn

~
When virtue’s taken does it come back?
When innocence gone what else do we lack?
When the time comes is it too late?
When the day’s done was it fate?

When dreams awaken was it sound?
When trust is lost what then is found?
When does a broken heart mend?
When is a lover not a friend?

When all was had what’s left to yearn?
When the damage done what did we learn?
When the pains felt haunt can life return?
And when it does; does it burn?

~*~

sck080917

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The Void

~
Bedtime soon and demons shall awake;
but with a soul gone there’s none to take.
The screams in my head scare the spirits away.
Nightmares fast-forward to the light of day.

The ghosts turn white when I yell boo.
And the Reaper can shove his sickle too.
Coz in reality horror lives and fantasy dies.
And sleep‘s just a void behind closed eyes.

~*~
sck072517

Morning Triku #155 – Drums Rolling

.
Taxing Tax Free

The nice thing about
being an author is you
wrote your own paycheck.

.
More or Less

If you try sometime
you do find you get what you
tried for but no more.

.
Dueling Wits, I Coulda Had a G8

If a sum’s greater
than its parts, then parts lacking
must be a summit.

.
sck070717

Morning Triku # Maybe the Last or 154

Going, Going, Gone

~
Poetic Visions

A poet can see
the past, present and future.
Then write all the wrongs.

~
Forever Green

In time we all green,
some blossom, others jaded.
Most just get moldy.

~
Pocket Full of Poesy

We’re going to hell
in a hand-basket held by
a deplorable!

~*~
sck070617

Foreign Concepts

~*~
Touched by humility with time to wait and see.
Humorously dashed to experiment in honesty.
Words can be precise but only when alone.
Much like life itself, it’s dark and damp beneath the stone.

A curious squirrel climbs a lilac to explore my porch.
We both wonder why I’m here.
The squirrel retreated though not defeated.
It is they who won, I remain seated.

Less I digress, more to be sure.
Life changes on a dime, I left to write with only rhyme.
Chaka baby beckons beyond, nostalgic breath I’m fond.
Dancing in an imaginary chair, day’s gray, air just fair.

Nicotine lingers, perhaps to know this first.
Sinking, swimming and drowning and yet still the thirst.
Thoughts flood of minutes, days, weeks and years.
Words flow when controlled by the moon and a sea of tears.

Laughter waves at depths unfathomable.
And the ring of life is forever shareable.
Journeys don’t end when the seeing changes.
Time begins anew when life engages.

My mind is weary; it’s a pile of abstract fluff with no thoughts to puff.
But I’ll write again tomorrow, cos enough is never enough.

*
sck062017