MOTHER...
What a mysterious word...

A cruel misdeed, vile and putrid,
has been in Zimbabwe committed...

In the night, when all is quiet-
There appears a curious sight...

Silently she sleeps, with eyes wide open,
her mind is undone from years of provoking...

Let us let bygones be gone.
Forgive me- for not caring enough to say goodbye...

I'm finished and done!
All my plans have been dusted...

Poetry is odd.
Simply because, it reveals an element of a person...

Round and round and around,
life is like a kiddies play-ground...

It irks me to see, in a place of league,
the air-head receptionist looking brain-dead...

Consider yourself, oh butterfly.
Each day you prance about in your lacey glory...

P and Q members, where are you?
Once upon a dream we were lively and bright...

I have a friend, poor dear,
who dons an acheing head i fear...