He was king of a generation game
Bearing a title of a house-hold name...

I walked slowly across
your bed made of soft grains of sand...

My wounds grow deeper,
laying beneath this...

My palate was laced with a pervasive spite,
My mind, induced by a sultry bile...

The birds singing their
chorus at dawn...

I write to you all with regret
our industry is in great debt...

Occasionally I would meander
along the path where we walked...

Their
secret...

Not teaching my kids
to mimic but nice to hear...

Promises...

Thoughts stew in my mind
anxiety bubbles up...

leaves saunter the air
the wind shakes hands with Autumn...