mike ruthenbeck Biography

If I were to die on this very night
In some ill-fated turn of misfortune
I would want for it to be known forthright
that there is nothing I would have undone.
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The truest irony of all, perhaps,
In relating past, future, and present,
Is seeing the way the roads on the maps
All lead only to some random event
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This structure of rhythm, da Dum da Dum,
Forces the words flowing out from the hand
Iambs will heighten the feelings to come
While leaving the treasure deep in the sand
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What became of the bottomless Vessel?
How could such a mass roil and boil?
The steam and water pour from the trestle
Uselessly dripping forth onto soil.
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Swaying, yet sturdy, in the strong breezes
So high I can see the curve of the Earth
The passing of Winter's epic freezes
Is observing Spring's spectacular birth
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