An Owl’s Lullaby

The normals are gone by 12 or before
But, I’m up till 1, 2, 3 maybe 4
When my lullaby is sung by the birds
till my eyes slowly shut
and then I make tunes with the birds

We harmonize, but I’m just an octave lower
A rough day gone, now my heart beats slower
in time for rejuvenating; recuperating

It’s so refreshing

The alarm wakes, but I’m still refreshing
these damn cyclic habits
Man, I need more refreshing

…I might grow taller
Na…I’m cool being hobbit

Clean Pharmacist, Dirty Patients

I lick this spot
stick my marker at this spot
count my strokes
Then pour them pills into that pot

That’s just retail
So now on the hospital me tale

Doctor Chinedu asks for ID
before them sweet words get bagged IV
As I pick gauze, and your skin, booze lick
Cleaned is spot for my needle stick

Next, I sedate and make you fast breathe
as you switch worlds, unto sweet dream

I cut the dream before credits roll, sorry
the last time I came with warm coffee and cream
you like it hotter, with more cream and honey

I’ll make it up with breakfast; please feed
you’re still mad, so let’s re-medicate
Tis dosed right, won’t need more medic aid
Now healed; all smiles; discharged, new breed

Glad you’re good, but hate to see you leave
so, get sick soon
makes good business

Cleansing a Cleansing Sponge

I soak up water, then I drip with wine
I soak up smoke, then you breathe, its fine
I soak up hurt, then I drip laughter and smile
I soak nerves, you squeeze, and down your arm ooze calm

Then I get dirty, and start to ooze the reverse
while I still try to reverse
the things in reverse
Fed up, then soaked up words, that bled into verse

Now God must wash what my pores have kept with it;
soul was blackened with
The loss of two, is what I wash it with
It pains, it burns as boiling water is washing it
I cling to God, Or else I’ll be washed with it

I pray for better days
Days I can drip good again
and in my rearview, be glad this was me
But now it hurts, as God is purging me
Renewing: getting a cleansing sponge dirt free

Seasonal

Sometimes I dig,
sometimes I scratch
some days I fend for others
Some days, I suck milk; mothers’

Some weeks I shoot for the heavens
some weeks, I shoot for the root
and some, I cease to shoot

Today I’m a wild fire
tomorrow, I lack desire

Some days I love
somedays I’m graven
Somedays, I’m dove
Another, I’m raven

Somedays I’m winter
others, Summer
maybe Spring
or even, Fall

A seasonal being
I flirt with four seasons
mess with weathers
then split, to double date day and night

Bipolar, Multi-personality, or just human
simply complicated as the sides of a die; human
As with different folks, different strokes
We dress: different days, different cloaks