Off the land and into the pit, September rolls around.
Simple days have long since gone upon the family ground.
Stolen pride-dignity.
Gossip hounds' voices sound like trumpets to the games.
I'm in the pit, grease to my neck, not hearing the marching band.
But thoughts intrude, they are so vain, adding layers to the pain.
My dream is muddled in murky grey as the selfish look for more.
Holding on till morning light, body spent, truth ignored.
I'm but a serf upon my land, the devil has the upper hand.
So as September rolls on through, my thoughts no longer good.
Purple bands upon our hands, the grease hides all the pain.
Dreams alive for those who stare, not a clue of something wrong.
For in this pit and man-made hell, I'm struggling to hold on.
Stress like devil's electric pain, the blood beats through my veins.
Beats of heart like coffin nails erase the final stand.
In the box the farmer goes, absent from the land.
Rob a farmer of his love, you steal his soul.
There's nothing left, they're asking why, but refuse to understand.
I know I am going to die,
but I do not know at all when.
And will my life be satisfied and complete?
But it will not matter anymore then.
(09.04.2026)
The complex secret of life
is simplicity itself:
you're born, you live and you die.
It is a well-thumbed book with
incomprehensible text
which you borrow, you read and
then pass it on to the next.
A hydro engine, Myer made'
It put car makers in the shade.
He was soon to die
Cause filed, vauge suspected.'
Just a ( stroke of bad luck.?)
Or murder directed.?
On the wall, keeper of time,
The hands of truth continue to wind.
It ticks with the steady beat of my heart—
A loud, continuous nudge,
A reminder: "Remember you must die."
The hands of a clock mirror our life.
With each swing of the pendulum,
A little less time.
Each second, a moment closer to demise,
As the sun sinks low in the western sky.
Fear not your shadow; accept the night.
The clock keeps winding,
As the daylight turns to night—
With each tick, clarity speaks softly
Purpose shines brightest just before midnight
As time fades away-
Embrace the fallen night
Tick-tock.
Tick-tock.
Hell
is wherever
you happen to be
when it keeps you from what you love
Hell
is what you never say
in fear of being
censored by the club
Hell
is where
tomorrow hides
today stripped cold and bare
Hell
is where
your feelings die
— when there’s no one left to care
(The New Room: August, 2026)
Author's Note
In February 1258, the Mongol army led by Hulagu Khan sacked Baghdad, the capital of the Abbasid Caliphate. It marked the end of the Islamic Golden Age. Libraries like the House of Wisdom were destroyed, and countless books were thrown into the Tigris River until the water ran black with ink and red with blood. Scholars, artists, and civilians were killed. The destruction ended centuries of science, medicine, and philosophy, and showed what happens when cruelty replaces knowledge and forgiveness.
When Baghdad Wept-CM
Cruel hooves marched, and cities bled,
Cold steel struck, and scholars fled.
Wisdom burned while rivers ran,
Words turned ash in Tigris span.
Mercy slept while towers fell,
Golden age was lost to hell.
Yet kindness waits in hearts to rise,
Forgiveness blooms in humankind eyes.
All the people who are gone
All the ones who learned to fly
They all flew on passed the sun
They all were too young to say good-bye
All the people that have died
All the people that passed the moon
We all try to wonder why
Why all these people have died too soon
Were there lives just meant to end
All the people who have gone away
Why isn't it us instead of them
Was it just meant to be that way
All the people that we loved
All the people that we knew
They were all too young to have to die
When they said good-bye to me and you
Some were family, some were friends
Why did they have to pass so soon
Why'd they have to pass the sun
And why'd they have to pass the moon
All the people who are gone
May they rest in peace where they lie
All the people that have passed
They were all too young to have to die
We will all die, we will all cry, we will all win if we conquer sin.
Sin can come in many forms, it can lead us to places that make us feel bad and sad, it can take hold of all of our life, and make us live in a negative life.
We can win and repent, we can choose to live a life that wins with no sin.
We will all fall, like Jesus did, but we can all choose to get up and continue on.
Life will lead us to many places, we may suffer, we may have all we need, we may just be getting tested to see if we are truly good or bad.
May we all keep going, never give up, forgive, love and always choose life.
For God told us of the struggles we will have, the choices between good and bad.
Lifting prayers to God, today and always.
Veronica did nuclear research in Blackfoot, Idaho
Went to a Walmart one day, with her two-year-old in tow.
Kid reached into her bag, pulled out her gun
She was shot dead by her two-year-old son.
Sergey researched superconductive vortex lines.
One day men invaded his town, death on their minds
They killed all pedestrians: fear by design
Shot Sergey from his yard to free Palestine.
Louis used a screwdriver to keep halves of a sphere apart
Contact goes critical, not a task for faint of heart.
The screwdriver slipped, the halves came too close
The room glowed blue, he got a lethal dose.
Samuel was an A.I. engineer, pushed a frontier
He brushed past Rakeem, came too near.
Rakeem punched Sam so hard that in two days Sam died.
You don't expect that on a subway ride.
Four scientists dead, acts of God, acts of man?
Such random tragedy, only one was a plan
Can we blame the victim? It doesn't seem right.
They chased the truth, fought the good fight
Who of us knows if we'll be alive tonight.
I have nothing bad to say to those who die young
It’s no fault of theirs
For in old age they may have foreseen a life so
Burdensome, so demanding, so tiring and so wizened,
With their cute faces eventually lost to the freshness
Of beauty, raw or enhanced.
Imagine wiry, annoying smuts christened grey hair —weeds
On a gold field!
And with “Don’t eat this, don’t drink that.
They are not good for your age.
The time has passed when they would have done your
Body no harm,” rammed into their youthful ears by
Loquacious physicians.
Oh, God!
No!
They had heard enough!
They had seen enough!
So they decide to bow out early, before
It’s all too late, and rainy.
For them, it’s better too soon, with the gurgling
Blood of youth in them, and sunny, than too late, with the
Crinkling bones of senectitude.
Oh, to Hell with sageness!
Roses are red, violets are blue,
The world feels brighter, it's true.
A lighter burden, a peaceful release,
Everyone is happier, when I die.
No more worries, no more strife,
Just rest, a different life.
A gentle silence, a calm, deep sigh,
Everyone is happier, when I die.
The sun will shine, the birds will sing,
Joyful feelings, they will bring.
A lifted spirit, reaching for the sky,
Everyone is happier when I die.
CANADA A STATE
TRUMP WANTS THIS TO BE OUR FATE
CANNOT OVERSTATE
POET NOTE
I wrote this poem to show how the absence of hope, support, and kindness can push people to the edge. Many people don’t die because they are weak. They die because they feel alone and hopeless.
As humans, we must give hope, spread positivity, and be light in someone’s darkness.
A little care can save a life.
Last breath
tears and rain
grief freezes the lake
hope dies
War and only war
Many flags are raised with pride
You can only die
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