One day I'll put my poems in proper order -
Until then, you must now bear with me.
Making sense of my life's general disorder
And to write on until I become free.
The stories that I paint with my words were
At one time true - as you will come to see.
Bit by bit, by means of each digression -
Compose the whole (in full) my life's confession.

The World these days is not in proper shape -
The basic fact there are too many people.
Too many souls for destiny to rape
As we gather like timid mice beneath the steeple.
The wine is spill'd from life's fermenting grape
To blast the Godhead with this heady tipple
Which lays us to ruin, and from whence -
We call this our life's experience.

And these experiences I now gather -
Each is a little vignette of its own.
Read them all (or none) if you'd rather -
It's something that I never will disown.
I'm proud of my verse - I am the father
Of all I write and gather like a gown
About me as a blanket - woven stars
Poetry's not a prison - rhymes not bars.




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