Upon Me

Short poem for WDG.

just a seventh of a second
all it takes, revealing my penchant
to stand against what may come
maybe better yet worse than some
this moment fast to the grave
keeps me alone in this cave
of my mind where solace finds
a lean somber clock that chimes
it is time for hell or heaven
can I believe and reckon in

just a seventh of a second

Of A Generation

We are generation X
or was it something Y
A defined block of time
chunks and molds us
like people cookie cutters
Whether needed or not
due desires we sought
bytes of life misbegot
to gain and grow our lot
Social defiance emphatic
or gilded success tyrannic
Our own unique seers
we built facades half mad
on top of rotten piers
with scoped belief in each fad
overlooking the cogs and gears
dreaming beyond the foundation
but never acting more
than just a generation.



Troubled is the man
steeped in mental poverty
looking but never finding
respect laid secret hiding
he may never see

Lost is the woman
heeding the words of others
trial and error again
to dignity apprehend
through all her punctures

Therein these kind lie
while all life goes by