Ace Of Black Hearts Poems

A midnight summers dream.
A winters ghost that just won't forget.
The pain that has been both set and laid to rest.
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Well enough to be well she said.
Well enough to be well he said.
Through the eyes this dragon comes cloudy visions of before and after.
A relationship severed off at the knot.
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How does one define expertise?
Is it by what we think we know?
Is it by what we have all experienced?
Is it by certification and degrees?
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To some the task might seem daunting.
To some the task might seem haunting.
Words drip on to this piece paper with an iron clasp.
A casket to be nailed fast.
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I can still hear the noise.
A girls whispers in the dark.
Some laughter then the unending screams.
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The fuse is lit.
Look theres another flying brick.
Get down, and get ready for this storm.
This is my castle, this is the place I call home.
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The ghost of october.
It makes me so damn sober.
With words it's just over.
The fire, the sassy little flame that dances before me.
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On a ghost of summer's day.
Thoughts that arrive very bitter and always too late.
This does not change what etched on empty momument stating a name and date.
As the words blur we do know time that has passed on his grave.
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Outrage and antagonistic debate brought on by pure hate.
Only a distraction devised by media to pass a bill quickly and quietly through the congress and senate, to diminish a 11 nations capability and sovereignty by which financial means do matter.
The lawyer wraps his words so cleverly full of so much deceit.
The hidden meaning, the hidden agenda, of over 40 percent of the economic state.
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A useless discussion with the sounds of trumpets in the background.
Some would say indeed you are only tooting your own horn.
Dictating words back to sounding board.
If it has no life, how could we expect it to be reasonable in the art of reasoning.
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