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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required I’m waiting for one of ‘those calls’ That involves a dear friend, May not have seen him since last fall, But ‘E-N-D’ still spells end. He is in good hands, Or so they all say, Tagged name in a band, In case it’s needed the next day. Near departed souls of land, Maybe someone else’s mate, Who may need a new patch, Prior to knock on the gate. Or possibly sent toward the pitch? So time stays dead still, Words echo through my room, Shaking from lack of pill, Least there is no more rat boom. We fill our soul while we sit, Wash our salts and quench, Food never fills this deep pit, We all are players in the shit. A bell signals’ message of news, To earth our personal fears, A few words would induce spew, Others would bring cheers. The mighty power of words, Delivers more that deep shock, Nervously, I write some blurbs, My emotions kept in stock. It is still a beautiful day, Blue skies and clouds in sky, It is what some people may say, A fantastic day to die. If there is ever such time, Place or ideal situation, Life’s passage of rhyme, Sends tingles of sensation. Last night when she called, There was panic in her voice, Obviously she had balled, As if there was one choice. Hey, that’s what they do, The white coats and nurses, “Here is the honest truth, As you fill our purses”. That’s our worse fear, But I have done what I can, For my friend torn in pieces, He always knew who I am. A man of few words, I just sit still on this hill, I know death will persist, I write when my mind is still, I bleed daily to exist. (c)2016 PJ Bayliss
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