WHAT SUNDAY'S SON SAYS

Sunday is the first day of the week;
The alpha of days.
The beginning of creation,
Let's hear what it says...

*in sunday's voice*
"My name is Sunday.
I'm the hideout of both good and bad.
People use me as a measure of their righteousness.
They drop their stained souls at the feet of Saturday and start Monday with them.
I see them all...
I see those who are good,
I see those who are bad.
I see them all..."

That was Sunday,
The first born of the week.
To whom it may concern,
Let him hear..

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THE DAY WE DIED and some other stuff

Day after day, the same way, we count the days we have left to live. There's no problem with that. Just that our minds grow in sync with that info, so we mentally shorten our own lives. We've got nothing to lose. And hence a lot to gain. So the more we count our days, The more the pain. This is just Free-writing. There's nothing more to it. Just heed to the advice because it's legit. I'm walking down writer's block, wondering where to go. So I'm just scribbling; I've got nowhere to go. Writer's block is a hard thing to hit. It's like fishing with a bottle cork. It's true some of these lines don't fit; I'm just emptying my stock. Don't mind me wae, Writer's block is not real. It's just an illusion; One which can kill💣. Don't stop writing, And blame it on an illusion. Merge your art with passion, Now that's what you call a fusion. Writer's block is for dummies. For lazy people...

It's Wrong

I don't know your pain. I don't know your sorrow. I don't know a thing about what you think. All I know is... It's wrong. Imagine my fist upon your cheek, Breaking every bone upon impact. Would that be right too? Since what makes us happy, is apparently what is right. You like to walk naked. I want my clothes on. You love to smoke in public. Even chimneys hide their faces in black. If it's right because you love it, The prisons should be empty. The asylums should be playgrounds. And the policeman should probably be out of a job. It's true our ideas may differ. Our mentalities also might. Our natures might also differ... But our world remains the same. The world you destroy by what you love May be the one you repair with what you hate.. Dheric Da Poet®

EYES WRITE RIGHT

Windows to the soul; The pathway to greatness. Bringer of light; Remover of darkness. Take my pen, Ye portal of tears. Inscribe what thine heart sayeth, Ye sighter of fears. Write my stories, Both black and gray. Include the past I threw away. When tongues and ears refuse to see, Be my sight. When hearts and souls sing, Take note of my dance steps. For when eyes write, The right things are said. The right things are done, The right things are heard. Revelation Poet ©2016 Follow me on [ FACEBOOK ]

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