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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Floccinaucinihilipilification And Very Little Heart (Second of Three Poem Trilogy) II Winter blowing in fierce, bitter cold now lingers soon the "old and useless" will meet their destined fate, at Winter-child's hands, gun, itchy trigger fingers and infantile minds that so dearly love to hate. Ah, but the "old and useless" stood their sacred ground with true honor, pride and its time tested displays, where else can such gratuitous treasures be found or joy and freedom be had in these weeping days? The "old and useless", in rightly honored places would journeying spirits find their defending grip, souls weakened without dismay on their bright faces, from whence came those packs of jackals to tear and rip? Ah, but world's powers feed upon lust and deep greed with fever pitch tries to kill foundations of trust using false values think power is all they need, vanquishing the "old and useless" becomes a must! As new dawn emerges, up sprouts new and green shoots with light absorbing leaves they sing loud as they glow some are outraged, change to put on their stomping boots, others joining that course, seeing how the winds blow. Burnt midnight oil, ink splashes on receptive page as poetic hearts and souls stand firm on solid ground, furious, they write and tremble in aching rage with shields held higher while knowing their cause is sound. Winter blowing in fierce, bitter cold now lingers soon the "old and useless" will meet their destined fate, at Winter-child's hands, gun, itchy trigger fingers and infantile minds that so dearly love to hate. Ah, but the "old and useless" stood their sacred ground with true honor, pride and its time tested displays, where else can such gratuitous treasures be found or joy and freedom be had in these weeping days? Robert J. Lindley, 3-25-2018 Rhyme Note: Make of this what you will, I give thus and surely shall send no bill Yet in my poet's heart my soul oft grieves for the Autumn colors not the decaying leaves For the heart that yearns to write and truly give and the mortal soul that writes to live With inked symbols and a mind tired of toil wading through worlds filled with pride and hidden turmoil I write with purpose to give to others, not to take tho' oft my poet's heart over burning coals some gladly rake. Note- This poem is titled, Floccinaucinihilipilification And Very Little Heart and is the , Second of Three Poem Trilogy....
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