clasping fingers while waiting for the award,
standing in a line with all neatness restored,
only a week earlier his hair was long and rough,
thin was his body but made more tough,
missing in the jungles after a plane crash,
injured by the impact of the giant smash,
lived on bugs and worms for daily meals,
the people surrounding now never know how this feels,
with all the moments in the darkness alone,
standing in front of this crowd chills him to the bone,
nervous from the people that all stare at him to judge,
as he doesn't hear the announcer and gets a nudge,
stepping up to the microphone to speak about his ordeal,
he opens his mouth to speak but knows this is not real,
a dream he wakes from still sitting on that crashed plane,
as the loneliness took his mind to go completely insane.

massacres of the past,
the shots fired last,
what makes them tick,
what makes them sick,
twisted minds of violent thought,
value of life should be taught,
easy to see intention of hurt,
people surrounding should be more alert,
hiding pain when its not real,
thoughts to actions with more to feel,
why hurt another so innocent and pure,
if only violent behavior had a cure.

the pointed finger with black cracked nail,
commands the bigger grunts to not fail,
walking in the direction the other said,
as one looks around turning his big dumb head,
bumping into a tree branch to daze and confuse,
to the others laughing as this was to amuse,
they continue walking with big feet stamping loud,
as anyone down the dirt road would hear their crowd,
coming to a bridge looking stable but high,
the others cross but one remains beginning to cry,
a fear of heights flows over as the others shrug and run,
leaving him behind to not join in on the fun,
another reaches a hill seeing something to eat,
he runs over and swallows down all the meat,
feeling tired after the meal with his stomach in pain,
the others keep moving with only two now that remain,
coming to a fork in the road with both ways unknown,
remembering the pointed finger of what it had shown,
one goes east and other goes west,
each one thinking he knows the best,
the one that bumped his head comes to a gate,
as the other falls down a pit to fail as his fate,
knocking once then knocking more,
his knuckles turn red and sore,
nothing happens after waiting all afternoon,
his hope is that someone will come along soon.

put the wooden spoon on top to prevent an over boiling pot,
place the bananas in the fridge so they won't rot,
same with an onion so cutting won't make you cry,
use an electric leaf blower inside to clean the kids pig sty,
use tooth paste to shine your headlights of the car,
and track your kids phones so you know where they are,
block the word 'unsubscribe' so you don't get spam,
and wrap it up with a little vinegar on the leg of ham,
crack and hold an egg in your fingers to separate the yoke,
and never wake your big dog up by give it a poke.

imagination placed on the paper flat,
a drawing of something round and fat,
but from the floor everyone looks like that,
as if the perspective from a door mat,
wondering what we look like from a cat,
a large hand reaching down to give a pat,
looking up to give a meow from where it sat,
half a gift of a dead ass end of a rat,
nothing left to do but tell kitty to scat,
but i feed him even though hes a little brat.

Lasers fire in red and blue,
dead robots and humans too,
exploding parts scattered meat,
the ending near to soon a defeat,
a large explosion comes from the south,
as the robot and human open their mouth,
another enemy rises from the light,
a combination of robotic human joining the fight,
that battle went on for only one more day,
as the new army blew the old all away,
no more separation of robot and human being,
mixed now and forever is what we are seeing.

searching around the shed he exposes a large wasp nest,
covered in the bugs he froze to do whats best,
the wasps all look at him standing completely still,
enough all in one place to come sting and kill,
slowly he builds the courage to take a step back,
as they see him move and look as if they would attack,
still not moving from their nest as he takes another move,
trying to do it slow to keep his motion smooth,
all the wasps turn and continue to build,
as he relaxes a little from the emotions filled,
exhaling his breath that was held so long,
flowing over the nest alerting them to something wrong,
they fan out in all directions as he swings and runs,
with them stinging him with their poison stuns,
covered in bites all over his shirtless skin,
as the poisons circling his blood making his head spin,
the pain he feels leaves his mind as he fades to dream,
floating over the hills to imaging a calming stream,
later when he wakes puffed in a pile of mud,
feeling the poisons faded into his blood,
he goes back into the shed to look around,
seeing the nest is now broken on the ground,
the wasps have left and taken their young,
as he wonders what he experienced when stung.

little lizard run with tail swinging to escape from something above,
watching them scatter across the ground i always love,
being careful not to stand on the little running skink,
as they go from one side to the other for a little drink,
sunning them self quick but go fast from hungry birds,
some of it i just can't explain in my words,
they are little and cute trying to elude my sight,
running and stopping because they cannot fight.

i wasn't writing much in the last week or two,
as the pressure built up to show through,
seems i must write stuff or my head will explode,
letting something out to lighten the load,
some people vent in strange and weird ways,
while my release comes in what my writing says,
i don't give others what i have by them reading its text,
it just rolls out and i have no idea what comes next,
i just think of the first sentence and the rest just flows,
so if what comes next from my mind no one sure knows.

wishes whither away into darkened ashes winds float,
coughs of spit gurgle deep in the dry throat,
people come and go but some stay near,
hurt again by the trust put safe in here,
let them close to claw through the skin,
gripping tight and ripping guts from within,
showing them to your eyes with a grin on their face,
blood falls to the dirt soaking in to never replace,
fallen back to join with their dirt being now a best friend,
it sticks to your skin while your mind begins to mend,
vines grow around and strangle your neck tight,
as the darkness of the sorrows want answers in the night,
with a morning sun blurred by fogs still cold,
by the time you have your answers you are too old.