When in the dark of heated greed,
There was a shock, a unemployed face.
It had whispered of bad weather,
A storm of flashing commerce.
Parchments expanding the stain of green,
By the light of reflecting fleash.
Man has power in dollers,
Captilism mentaly teases the masses.
Encourging the action of fantsy.
A dream exposed for payments.
Desire in the bare undernieth.
To the Devil and the one percent.
But I to, in my sweet sigh,
Of my Shakspear gaze,
For that strangle of golden lights.
The price is,
The pound of fleash.
When in the dark of heated greed,
There was a shock, a unemployed face.
It had whispered of bad weather,
A storm of flashing commerce.
Parchments expanding the stain of green,
By the light of reflecting fleash.
Man has power in dollers,
Captilism mentaly teases the masses.
Encourging the action of fantsy.
A dream exposed for payments.
Desire in the bare undernieth.
To the Devil and the one percent.
But I to, in my sweet sigh,
Of my Shakspear gaze,
For that strangle of golden lights.
The price is,
The pound of fleash.
(sry Spell check was not working )
Imagination
A dream runs wild through them like
Dragons and fairies
By: Misty Leccese
© June 18, 2009
words fail to conceive in an eager, eager heart
a twisted labyrinth of puzzled paths
never the twain to gainfully meet
beginning or end never to gleefully greet
a writer's most dreaded curse
he sits and fretfully fears the worst
in mind's eye he is to fail
finding no truths to prevail
no promise of fantsy to mend
no mindful, new words does he find to blend
just a stark, blank, empty page
the cast all gone, a deserted stage
there is but one who remains
he who holds the pen in vain
morning has come, dawn has crept in
and not one word was spoken to him
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