The pursuit of emptiness begins with the fabrication of a
perfect lie, honed to truth, and brutal in its deceptive
I must bear the humiliation of kneeling to beastliness.
(c) Rob Goldstein 2017 All Rights Reserved
Splendid writing from Daisy in the Willows
Sitting with a cup in me hand,rattling my pennies. The wind cuts through my salvation army coat – I feel bare.
Half an hour until the big brother brigade does their rounds, to come clear off the debris of me, offending society, with my appearance of failure. Glasses fixed on nose bridges to hide poverty’s despicable, shining glare.
It wasn’t meant to get to this point. I had a home, a family. Believe me, I was a carer. That was many years ago.
I let my parents down. They was ill. They fought a lot. Dyspraxia and Alzheimers is a blinding, rallied up bull shit way to steer 30 years of love straight out the front door with a forceful blow.
Pa was getting violent he couldn’t help it – it was the frustration. The illness works that way . Too much protein in the brain ,the doctor says.
I don’t care much for protein. I…
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Only a tramp was Lazarus that begged.
He lay down by the rich man’s gate.
He begged for crumbs from the rich man to eat
But they left him to die, like a tramp on the street.
And, Jesus who died on Calvary’s tree
Shed his life’s blood for you and for me.
They pierced his side, his hands, and his feet
And, they left him to die just like a tramp on the street.
He was Mary’s own darling; he was Mary’s own son.
Once he was fair and once he was young.
And, Mary she rocked him, her little darlin’ to sleep
But, they left him to die like a tramp on the street.
When the battles are over and the victory’s won
Everyone mourns for the poor man’s son.
Red, white, and blue and victory sweet
And, they left them to die like a tramp on the street.