Deplorable

Defying the agenda of traitors,
Embracing our traditional ideals
Pushing back on 'America Haters'
Loving the fight, and refusing to yield.
Organizing against the insurgence
Respondong to the call of our nation
Ascending to our great culture's defense
Bowing to none, fight without cessation
Leading the charge to keep our nation free
Enacting new Manifest Destiny.

                                          

A simple question

I am a fool, I'll not deny,
My actions speak louder than words
And all the improvements that I try,
They every one crash hard and burn.
To fault me for the wrong I've done,
With no words for the right I've thought
Ignores the race I've thus far run,
And every last battle I've fought.
And though I'm not a perfect man...
Romantic, proud, and bellicose...
I strive to be the best I can,
Does that not make me more than most?
So then to what must I appeal
To prove to you I'm your ideal?

Focus!

Wake,
Jump up!
Grab my clothes,
Run down the stairs
Into my garage.
There, my weights are waiting
For a 'Clang and bang' session
As Dwayne 'the Rock' Johnson calls it.
My equipment is subpar at best
But I try to make do, and that's what counts.
Every minute I spend lifting today
Is an investment in tomorrow's
Happiness and my confidence,
Making me a better man
Than the one I am now.
Until tomorrow,
I have today.
Make it count:
Focus!
Lift...

A Sonnet.

He dreamt an odd dream, but it was his dream,
And he held it close to his trembling heart.
A great waste of thought, is has come to seem:
He watches as it all tumbles apart
Like a Roman watching it all Collapse,
Hating the  thought of what tomorrow brings...
Then the next, and the next as the days elapse,
Each thought conjuring such horrible things!
And with not a soul with whom to confide,
No sympathetic ear to hear his plight,
He must pretend to take it all in stride,
Lest his countenance should come to indict
To the world his daydreams that now shatter...
Carry on, Lad, like it doesn't matter...

Uncertain

I sit here hundreds of miles away,
Watching the phone praying it doesn't ring,
Terrified at the news that it might bring:
That a great man has passed away.
No news is good news it is always said,
But I dont think it can be applied here.
No information in this case breeds fear
When dealing with a tumor in the head.
With nothing but time, I bow and I pray,
The prayer of a desperate grandson-
That his grandfather's race not yet be done,
As I have done so many times today,
Trying to bargain and negotiate
Any way I can to befriend the Fates....

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.