Randy McClave Poems

The house of politics it is such a dirty house,
It is not meant for man nor beast not even a tiny mouse,
All the walls are filthy and the floors are covered with grime,
From all the lies and scandals, and maybe a forgotten crime.
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In the eyes of a fly I am an immortal
I live for years and it lives for just a day
I then kill it, and I give a slight chortle
It should have been faster and flew away,
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Tonight; let there be peace
Let all killings and violence end
All hate, just let it cease
Instead of a foe, let's be a friend.
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I own not a rifle or even a gun
As did my father, but not me or my son.

No person or creature, do I ever want to kill
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From every grain of sand
That falls from my hand
Through my fingers to the ground
To utter but not a sound,
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Footprints in the sand
As deep as they might be,
Will someday be washed away
By the wind, or by the sea.
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Have you ever heard the House Wren sing
To its mate just to satisfy,
You might say no, but you've seen them take wing
And to hear it? Well, neither have I.
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One thing that I have heard
As I have often been told
Was the grass is always greener
On the other side of the road,
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I watch the World around me
As again I hear nature call,
For it is the end of summertime
And the awakening of a beautiful fall.
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Why does my heart keep on beating,
If you are no longer here.

Why does my eyes keep on seeing,
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