Crayon Box Dreams started song of my life.
Song sung from carefree innocent childhood.
Mellifluous music, I couldn’t wipe.
That ran in prelude-interlude-postlude.
Childhood passed, entered in adolescence.
World extended, becoming brighter broader.
Life spreading scattering different essences.
Youth showing colourful spectrum in splendour.
Vibrant dynamic youthful days were gone.
Ran sublime serene seniority.
Lost importance in next generation.
Felt misfit holding no priority.
Crayon Box Dreams still calling in last phase.
But all obsoleted : Dragging dull days.
Tact Is a Virtue
I Don’t Possess
Written: by Tom Wright
3/9/2018
Being tactful isn’t a trait you’ll often see me use,
I’m just a man who always speaks his mind.
Some consider my lack to border mental abuse,
And at times, others may think, I’m being unkind.
I say things to avoid any misunderstanding,
Perhaps at times I come across as being brash.
Though voice may rise it won’t be demanding,
And I’ve stored many “comebacks” in my cache.
If it makes you feel better just pick me apart,
For my having a backbone or my being bold;
For the things I’ve said originated in my heart,
When God finished me He obsoleted that mold.
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