Little Hearts
With each first touch of tiny hand
and oh so chubby cheeks,
an air so fair fell over me
the truth of love it speaks.
It lifts my heart out from my chest
lain gently by their own,
protecting, guiding, comforting,
where ever each they roam.
I laid not down this precious gift
with price tag, strings, or rules.
Better prepared is a heart so shared
for fibbers, foes, and fools.
Pure and full, unfit to depict
what hearts beat in their chests.
Above reproach, beyond belief,
each heart is truly blessed.
Virtues show as little hearts grow,
love's tree was meant to bear
it's righteous fruit grown resolute,
humble, and self aware.
They've found their likes as hearts will do
and little ones ensue.
As the lay their own hearts gently down,
so mine will carry through.
How do we elect all Presidents?
It is incredibly simplistic.
We go to urns and cast our votes in.
'But why?' I asked myself this question
Incessant multitudes of times; in sorrow.
All politicians, including presidents,
And, by their own admissions later,
In their memoirs and sudden recollections
Are incorrigible occupational fibbers.
We always take what they promulgate
During election’s lengthy process
With hugest grain of salt and still,
At the end of it, we learn it all in books…
Titled the same:
‘I would if I could!
But I couldn't, so I didn't!’
It's here, nor there,
when living on a prayer.
Rolling on,
without a care.
I watch,
as you live out your nightmare.
One bad dream,
the worlds become.
But who should complain;
the damage already done.
Like you; I've turned my back,
you're way to serious.
And I'm having to much fun.
Living life under the smoking gun.
I depend on life itself,
you're to worried about collecting wealth.
Now you're the ones sitting on the store shelf.
Sold to the highest bidder,
They're not broke, but they are fibbers.
Making promises they won't deliver.
Yet they label me, the sinner.
As they sell the country, up the river.
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