There are no words
that float the sea
The waves of grace
that others see
There are no winds
that brush your hair
or paint your lips
your face so fair
Your nails your hands
your gentle prints
clasp thin wrists
of gold strand twists
Your touch your feel
around my waist
Soft finger tips
my muscles traced
Your taste your smell
your jasmine scent
I dream of you
My pleasure dreamt.
DSS
Among the tormented men of thought
Of the wrecking ball of what God has wrought
The confusing voices from men of vote
Scramble our minds by the words he spoke
They chew and spit and disagree
No thought left for just you and me
Only profit’s greed and rising stock
Big dividends exchanged for hardened locks
They lust for cash and Highest Office Space
The low of the lowest of our human race
Sells their soul for fortunes chance
Learns each waltz of the devil’s dance
Boast and lie, distort the facts
Pile the load on middle class backs
But to hear them rally rant and shout
Rich man scams those that must go without
As they go back to their little pink homes
He flies South as if it’s Nero’s Rome
E.
DistantShipSmoke 