Where the Range Rovers grow

My eye, so ceaselessly cries,
For on this sunny Sunday afternoon,
My parents only care about trees and birds.
I want them to take me
Where the Range Rovers grow.

Where noses are stretched
At the smell of English roses,
Themselves inclining their heads
At the parked Mercedes Benz.

Don’t take me to the swans,
Let me feed CEO’s with eau de cologne,
See them fight each other with handshakes.

Take me to the place
Where everything’s expensive,
Except for the heir, that is free
To be whatever he wants to be.

The Monster!

Monster found! Strange name. Killed namer.

Old

Bones click into place as you stand,
Tracing the wrinkles and lines with my hand.
Legs are heavy, footsteps small,
Speech a withered, tiresome drawl.

But through your eyes grey and creased,
I see a life lived underneath.
With tears and laughter mixed behind,
Life and memories, soul and mind.

Mr. Winter

Snowflake,
Open your arms and dance, dance
Until you let yourself fall
To the ground, surrendered
To the laws of gravity.

Little drop of rain,
Come to me, slowly, slowly
Fall into me, kill my thirst,
Turn to ice from the weeping sky,
Fall into my eyes,

Pretend it was me who cried.
Pretend it is me that rains.

Excuse me if the air I exhale
Turns into a deadly whisper.
If those sweet words I mean to say
Are nothing but thunder.

Once, I wasn’t like this.
Once, I was all peace, bliss
And good intentions.

Samurai - The Art of War

A samurai walks a pebbled road. Grass whistles at him, as he graces a deserted village. Tentatively he approaches the temple at which he should meet his master. The hairs on his neck rise as he slides his hand down towards his sword. Alone, he feels watched. He slips his shoes from his feet, to allow him to see without looking down. He glides towards the door of the temple. He stops. His feet are warm. Looking down he knows without seeing. A body was there. He tightens the grip on his sword, for he is not alone.

A Year

Think of all the things that can happen in a year. 365 days. Think of all the laughter and the tears and the smiles that can fill these weeks. Life is too short, they say, whoever they are. When we're young we want to be old, when we're old we want to be young. No one is ever satisfied with where they are in life. But me, I'm satisfied. I can look ahead and I can look behind and be alright with where I am.
It's been a wonderful year.

Sounds of Progress

A yawn, a sigh, a pause.
A tap, a tick, a tap.
A yawn, a sigh, a pause.
A stretch, a sniff, a crack.
A tap, a tap, a tap.
A yawn, a tap, tap-a, tap.