my tree this was my tree not yours the one i would sit under and discover the one i would sit under and cry the one i would sit under and wonder when when when would you sit beside
grandma’s chair stacked not ready for packing or sale grandma’s stuff piled on a curb i still see her in that one chair smiles & laughter under a hat of curled blue-gray hair her chair the one that sat next to the piano no one ever played
unveiling you wanted answers there were none you didn’t ask you demanded in some righteous manner as if you deserved you failed to communicate you didn’t enquire you wondered why i stared it wasn’t at you i looked beyond disbelief suspicion and distrust i’d given
BG bombastic the attitude pretentious with hints of maliciousness an arrogant approach on the verge of an overdose a lighter touch indeed would succeed cornering the champions with longwinded air forgetting elegance relying on flare eloquence not the forte a collection of battle words & terms
non stop lollipop this is not the yellow brick road it is a path to gold ……………………. a hard core pavement you sweat & toil on on a daily basis a continual pounding that swells your knees and aches your back it’s the work ethic that keeps you on track
weathering the storm survival key to weathering the storm digging deep into one’s fortitude withstanding the wind’s lashings repeating out loud 1 more day till the sun breaks 1 more day till shaking off toils 1 more day till replacing fear with courage 1 more
