The light slices the darkness.

The blues are looking grey.

The gifts they keep on coming…

Here comes another day.

We dined on tea and oranges.

On the sand down by the sea.

There were possible storm warnings.

That escaped both you and me.

The dingy left the harbor.

The sail snapped by noon.

The winds grew dark and heavy.

Under far too soon, typhoon.

They’ll be no more tea and oranges.

Or walks down at the park.

The dreamers dream is heavy now.

And faint hopes are growing dark.

The Absurdity is in the hand wringing… The worry, strife and sorrow.

The furrowed brows, the panicked fears, the big plans for tomorrow.

I wish I knew this earlier, a regret of wasted time.

Not learning to laugh sooner in the gutters and the rhyme.

Better late than never is as close to no as yes.

No one’s getting out alive, unless I’m wrong a guess.

There once was a protester named Karen.

She’s protesting and hating and glarin.

She’s making things right.

Not her fault she’s white.

She’s just so damn smart and she’s sharin.

Dennis Mantin

Tis early here at crow piss; its darkest before the dawn.

Been dreaming about her beauty, and a smile she had on.

Time is somehow fleeting, on a race to God knows where.

I’m just naked in the shadows, with a calm yet distant stare.

Might sound like I’m complaining, I’m just searching for more sleep.

There’s a laughter in the distance; followed by a gentle weep.

I’ve had this running battle.

Avoiding normal was a fued.

On the farm with hay and cattle.

Not gonna be that dude.

A one way ticket to the town.

Now it’s years since I am here.

With all the crazy going around.

I want normal now I fear.

Rain is rushing down the gutter.

Washing all that’s in the way.

It’s either one thing or the other…

Bad or good, it’s all in play.

Doesn’t matter what you’re thinking.

Which way that wind is gonna blow.

If you’re down there in the gutter.

Only one way up I know.

http://www.davidelliottwriter.com/

It’s payday at the Gulag… There are smiles raining down.

The dealers here, peddling dreams. Anticipation is all the sound.

It’s chaos until midnight. When Cinderella hears a moan.

She was in the Masters dark room, where she thought they were alone.

It’s over like it started. Alarm clocks ring at dawn.

We move like it’s all over… It’s just the money that’s all gone.