The movie has no soundtrack.

That was playing in my head.

The theme was for the living.

The plot was for the dead.

It’s a story of hereafter.

Like the myths a child’s told.

Equal portions tears and laughter.

You get the girl but not the gold.

The Sunday rains came early.

Damp Sidewalks Saturday night.

The stylish got out umbrellas.

To see the brawl tween left and right.

The jabs that started early.

Are more for show, dramatic flair.

The internet is all the rage.

With so much noise so contraire.

There’s a shortage here on blue dye.

And the one that makes hair green.

All the battle plans have strategies.

That don’t offend or seem too mean.

I went home and locked the castle.

In fact, I never left the moat.

I just fired up the drawbridge.

And just let those voices shout.

The pain is psychological, like the pleasure in my head.

The wars were pathological and replaced the living with the dead.

Said you wanted peace. But I think that you want more.

Cause peace is just a lease if you don’t make for war.

It is all in preparation. Like the proverbs wisdom tell.

It’s just a sad, sad situation. To not know heaven here from hell.

I followed the sound of a jukebox coming from up the levee.

All of a sudden I could hear someone whistling right behind me.

I turned around and she said. “Why do you always end up down at Nick’s Cafe?”

I said, “I don’t know. The wind just kinda pushed me this way.”

She said, “Hang the rich.”

Owned by: Robert Jack

There is no book/essay that I can recommend more than this for the aspiring writer: