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Deceased Rabbit: A Poem

This was originally written in 2018 after the untimely death of Scott Hutchinson, the lead singer of Frightened Rabbit. Why am I thinking in Scottish? Somehow it aids in expressing All these depressing  Thoughts. Everybody dies And Everybody knows it, But  Everybody forgets It Every now and then. Because we have to. It's just another wound, It's just another wound, From the cradle to the womb, Another gone too soon, It's just another wound, It's just another wound, To the graveyard from the womb, They're always gone too soon.

"Father, Forgive Them"

“Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” Forgiveness is hard.  Forgiveness is really, really hard. It’s difficult to forgive others who have genuinely harmed or offended us.   It’s easy to say , “I forgive you,” but it’s extremely difficult to feel it–to make peace in our hearts with the injustices that others have perpetrated against us. It just doesn’t feel right.  Sin should be punished!  Wrongs should be righted!  Right?! It’s difficult to forgive others when they ask for it.  It’s even more difficult to forgive them when they haven’t asked for it–when they don’t even recognize what they’ve done to hurt us. As our Savior hung upon His Cross, He asked the Father to forgive those nearby–those who were unwittingly contributing to the greatest injustice in the history of the world. These thieves, soldiers, and standers-by had no idea what was happening.  They had no idea that the jealousy of the Jews had placed Christ on that Cross...

Spring in Ohio (a poem)

Baseball, Baby bunnies, Birds chirping, Rain. Violent temperature swings, Flowers blooming only to be Murdered by the frost, More rain. Heat in the morning And A/C in the evening, And a little more rain. Cute kittens, Nature walks, Sunshine in spurts, So much rain. Easter, A world resurrected, Hopeful hearts Emerging from the dark, Incessant rain.

Dregs (a poem)

Originally written on 03/31/14. The dregs at the bottom of  My well-used wine glass. The remnants of a society At war with maturity. Middle-aged men who are Oblivious to social norms. Miller Lite receptacles Littering our streets. Radios blaring mind-numbing, Top-40, bass-driven nonsense. The horror of reaching the bottom Of my glass of Moscato.

Rhymes (a poem)

Originally written on 03/29/19. When I was younger, I was prolific, But, boy, my rhymes were Pretty horrific, Now that I'm older, I'm my own critic, And I don't really Care about rhyming.

Four Years On

It's been four years? Are you sure it wasn't yesterday? Maybe it was a hundred years Ago. Four years on Since you've been gone, Four years on And life goes on. It's been four years? I still dream about you now and then, I wish I could call you to say Hello . Four years on Since we said goodbye, Four years on And I still cry. It's been four whole years, Somehow I got used to life without you, I guess I discovered a new Normal. Four years on Since our lives changed, Four years on And I'm okay.

A Cup of Tea

It's bitter cold, I pull myself out of bed, There's nothing I want more Than to keep you warm. You get up, You brace yourself for the day, You pour your heart, your life Into those four souls. Each day brings New challenges, New worries,  New waves of stress, Someone always needs something, Something is always breaking. At night You and I Cheesy TV And  A cup of tea.