That Clatter Of That Deathly Sound Gives No Host To Birth's Resound.... Poem by Michael Gale

Shhhhssshhh! Listen to that clacking sound...
As my dentures connect and hit to the ground.
What will i do? ....
Why just did they have flew?
That fist, that very large hairy fist...
Pushed well hard through mine mouthed teeth as like a ghostly once but now well solidified mist.
That fist, that very hairy and hard fist...
Connected to me and had not missed.

Clatter, clatter...
What doth matter?
That beastial bully hit hard to my lips...
Only thru the soda straws swill i be able to sips.
No more teeth that bad unhealthy day....
Had i not wanted to partake in boxing lessons, then with my bloody false teeth would i have to this day to suffer and pay.

But whence that real large brute of a bully with real hairy arms, turned
his back to me...
I pulled out my trusty old Smith & Wesson and shot him into his neckless back, He did'st not to move or even'ist to no longer to breath'i'dest and to be
He is no longer of this world, He is now but buried b'neath the leaf filled earth and dirt and leaves...
Look now and say your silent shhhhhsh!
No tears for him t'was ever spent.

Look and lo'....
No one is felt sorrowed or for he hath to have grieved.
No longer mortal...
Not well recieved.
Death hath no friends or foe...
That deathly spectre will shove to me or you or others to well go away
deep down below.