Writers Pain

Every time you

Write is a painful

Process

The words and subject

Do not come easy

They just come

With a lot of pain

And agony

But eventually

The words turn

To meaning

Letters to text

At a high price

Now

The cold red sun rises

Just a little above the horizon

Creating an illusion of day

Icy streets and stairs reminding

Us of our vulnerability

Moving carefully on our way

To face the daily perils of the world

The long workday promises only

The darkness of a cloudy night

When we eventually leave

Late in the evening

Conman

Winter mornings

Are dark matters

We suffer, we the Slow moving creatures

Of this Earth

I’m just an ordinary conman

Doing my deeds

And sometimes getting paid for them

When we are gone we are forgotten

we the insects of mankind

That you need but always denies

Getting By

Feeling like an

Ordinary conman

Just trying to get by

Without being

To hurt

Unable to achieve anything

No success, no money

Just a lot of angry people

Trying to put me down

Promises

I feel lost empty

I promise the sky

And I can only

Deliver one big shoe

I fight and lose

Rise up again

And fight and lose

No way

No problem

Solutions around the corner

Or disaster

But still here

And that’s

What counts

Bad News

A bad story is always a bad story

Never mind what you do

The very foundation is weak

Standing on sand that quickly

Slips away at night

Start over my friend

Before the sunken costs

Will sank you to in the sand

Like a drag