Old Stomping Grounds

This is what it's like to be so removed
From the age of people surrounding you...
You drink the same beer, the same plastic cups
You smoke the same things you've always lit up,
But something is wrong, it just not the same
You're in a crowd and they don't know your name...
The stories you thought would always live on
In just a few years have dwindled and gone...
The faces are different, the names are too
And you realize they aren't... That it's you...
You try to fit in but it's a mistake
For you know they'll find you to be a fake
And in the end, if the whole truth be told,
You're just reminded that you're so damned old..

SAR

Here is my first attempt at a Double Etheree...post apocalyptic and all!

What do you think?

Death
abounds
and surrounds
as we push forth
looking for supplies,
hoping for survivors.
Our silence is our respect…
The whole world has gone respectful,
the silence worse than the screams before.
Both have shaken us to our very souls.
Sorting through the fire, smoke and debris,
through ruins of cities laid to waste,
we take whatever goods we find
and try to ration them out.
We savor what we can,
for it won’t be long
that they’ll run out,
and like us,
will be
gone.

A Little Boy's Wish

Oh, how I wish Santa was a real man!

And that he had great workshops filled with elves,

Singing as they build toys and stock their shelves,

Happy dwellers of that frozen north land!

His flying reindeer would be such a sight!

They’d wait for the elves to fill up the sleigh,

Preparing to carry it all away,

To fly across the world on Christmas night.

Then every child would wake up to see

An assortment of toys, goodies, and treats

Wrapped in Christmas paper, shiny and neat,

Stacked lovingly beneath their Christmas tree.

Oh, how I wish all of this could be real!

If so, mom and dad wouldn’t cry at night

That they don’t have enough to “do things right”,

To buy us toys, and still afford a meal.

If only Santa could really exist,

Then there’d be no sadness on Christmas!

A Haiku

I welcome the spark

That sets off the powder keg

Rebirth in the flames...

Momma

I see you weeping momma…
                wipe those tears from your eyes.
Just take the needle from my arm,
                and sing me a lullaby.

Sing a song like you used to do
                as I drift off to sleep again.
I know I’m not a baby no more,
                but for now, let’s play pretend…

Remember how I used to play
                With boxes, sticks, and toys?
Remember how I was always happy
                and naturally filled with joy!

Remember all those summer nights
                I chased after fireflies and frogs?
Remember how I screamed and laughed
                Chasing around our poor dog?

Please remember my soft skin
                as you dried me from my bath…
and push now from your memory
                My skin now caked with dirt, and black…

Remember the light within my eyes
                as I sat while you read to me…
And not the dimness now in its place
                as my head rests on your knees.

Remember me that way, momma!
                Remember me how I used to appear…
Remember me as your little one,
                and not the broken one you hold here…

My pain and sorrow got the best of me,
                I couldn’t rise above my own mistakes…

Please forgive me…and love me momma…
                Don’t hate me momma….
                             I never meant for your heart to break.

The New Normal

Half hearted "thoughts and prayers" go out tonight for the dead...

People fall over themselves expressing "deepest sympathies".

Empty words offered before going safely to bed,

Far removed from the latest crime by jihadis.

Yes, We know the why, and we know the who,

But our leaders will fail to condemn..

Instead, they'll feign sorrow and mourning,

And tell us we've nothing to fear.

Their words are soft, their inaction is roaring,

But they'll have a grim face, to show they're sincere

That Islam had absolutely nothing to do

With these deaths, or those who caused them.

And when the next attacks happen (as they most certainly will),

And the bodies still warm from the latest moslem kill,

Our leaders will feign sorrow, and once again lie,

Continuing the cycle, till the last of us die.

France

Tonight we weep for France, and all her people must now endure.
The elite have rigged the system, and democracy exists there no more.

The truth shall set you free we are told, but it was covered up this day,
When the treachery of Macron was unveiled and put on display!

The faux centrist candidate, whose villainy was lain bare,
Was protected by the medias and the populace was told not to care.

A righteous woman, defender of the hopes and dreams of the west
Rose to keep the fight alive, and by God, she did her best!

But Soros, Merkel, and every other leftist son of a cur
Pooled their money, their medias, and their might against just her...

Oh, proud French men! French women! French youth!
Where will you go now that your nation no longer belongs to you?

Betrayed by your own countrymen who make Vichy appear a saint...
Rise up now! Take to the streets! In your wrath, show no restraint!

Ready the revolution! Ready the flames to burn the establishment down!
Prepare the guillotine to quench the thirst of your parched hallowed home ground!

Can there be a way to save their nation? Is there yet a way to win?
Tonight, we weep and pray for France, and for all who reside within...