Michael Gale Poems

Monarch...
Butterfly or king.

Dicktator, or Nature's beauty.
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Ears tingling dirty, as if stung...
Hands shaking, halted, to be wrung.

Whispering nothings, of silenced, breath....
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All bereft this chasms cleft...
Goes beyond, yon journey's left.

Olden days filled with chastened money...
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A beckoned discourse of illusion-ed time's immortal verse...
Can for no apparent reason, transgress thy meaning's horrid, worse.

Belittle thy petitioned gait...
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Steps of life fulfilled as like a shiny new penny...
Horror filled lanes of a lively filled highway to nowhere.

Hearkened keen senses of the spirited filth...
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Clark Can't...

Clark Can't fly yet, on Smallville...
He seems heavier and clumsier, than a Caddy, or Seville.
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Pain i was dished...
Torment, was i spent.

Torture was i lent...
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Back and forth...
Forth and back.

Never can i relax, always on pins and needles.
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Ah yes-Ancient breezes of innocence...
That comes it's course to freeze us fright.

All through the darkened dreary night...
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Your love...
Your feelings, you folded mine, into a paper plane and threw it out the window.

There it went, way up high, and way above...
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