I'm talking out loud,
to myself,
often these days
Not crazy but worn,
tired fighting,
to hear my thoughts through the haze
Which cry out against the
rising noise
in a steadily growing daze
Racing straight into the reds
only to turn
and hit brakes on the hills.
The children unhappy in their beds
need a change
feed them more grinning pills
to calm the tide of confusion
growing daily
then jail the evil-doer thugs
mother mother guide me
as long ago you did
fill the musty air now; turn darkness into hugs
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1 comment:
I will hug you anytime, my son, and protect you as best I can.
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