spiritual and cultural numerical figure
thought to be as of the heaven
constellation of seven sisters
reminds the days of the week
consists colours of the rainbow
divine notes on musical scale
total number of seas and continents
snow white runs off to live with dwarves
seven brides for seven brothers
Shakespeare’s man of seven ages
Sinbad the Sailor had same voyages
Ian Fleming had the right ring for James Bond
The world’s favourite number seven
The Child I once was and knew so well
Has faded into a harden shell
I won and lost a battle here and there
But, yet the war it rages everywhere
My wisdom do earn and over rate it
And yet, still others will debate it
Faithful trust, just turned into dust
Life was de-veined, derailed, just a bust
I must, I must, I must
Postponed and deflated
Under rated Twas some others fate
I entered into life; a little less, then late
Who dare such a thing?
Whom could bare such; without wings?
Debased I can not sing
Gone Is my wedding ring
With Burning Passions
Set a blaze; my eternals rage
Bones and flesh are melted, as the Ice
I take one more hit, a final slice
Fathers and mothers race
A child left with out a face
Flames grown and have over whelmed
Limbs deformed and burned I squirm
I did not ever learn
I was Burned
Sirens sound fires burn
The loneliest of hues
While I listen to
The Fire Engine Blues
A thought by Sinbad the Sailor Man
As stories go
So do souls
They wonder then grow
As cold as snow
Or as fever ant as ice
Men are not mice
In fields of golden wheat; grain
Lost with out; insane
Forgetting all that was; ingrained
Living souls in stores
Forgetting their chores
They become the board
Life swings back and forth
Mistrust; faith out sourced
Flesh awaiting to be scorched
Saviour's a many, but never a one
Living beneath the threat of a gun
Time awaiting to be undone
Dear old Abe that Faithful one
His brother ascertained, then defamed
He was Cain, not thy brother's keeper
But an evil creeper
A vine unfit to be tied
Entangled a web which he is bound
Truly wrapped and then leather bound
Blacken and read; were the words
The Word; bled the color of red
This fabled prince, our lord
Three score and some
Defeated seven thousand and one
And still some will be lost
Torched along with the moss
For the fable was not Able
To save any one
A thought by Sinbad the Sailor Man
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