SQUARE BOX

Logic I thought you would have a clue. Yet what the heck my mind is a twist to the mix from time to time. I will explain the poem. It is of homless finding thier way to another day. The box held by the dregs of human excrement. Yet the lost look for a place to be out of the cold the rain the heat of the the day and night. Simply the place they are to try to find a way to the morrow the sun the breeze. They can and will find people that I would be happy to kill. As they are so twisted that they hold no clue to humanity. The poem is of the lost that walk to a different place only to find that hell is to have them play in its game. The scratching of walls is to say the fool in the box now has his way with not only thier body. He is to place thier soul to hell. At least he thinks so. So thanks for the read of my poem so sad that it is of life and truth of those in need of help in the country I love. Sakkkkkkkkkkkkkkk

Sinthya. My words are from my mind. My place in time. Of pictures as well as truths I have seen in my life. This poem places sadness to my soul as it is sad in of itself. I say to you this. If ever you find yourself lost with no place to turn. Keep a smile to your face and remember what you have learned in your life. Please don't stay on the curb. Find your way to the woods as far as you can get. You must pack heavy and walk away from the life you were in. MRE'S are well to place to the pack as well as a long gun if you can. A twenty two would be best to survive and less noise please. A darrengier if you have for protection of yourself. Yet pleas get use to the trigger pull as many are heavy. Ask your dad or anyone you can trust. To show you the way to field dress a bird to skin and cook a rabbit or a squrill. I would go as far as to ask how can one prepare a snake. Bring only what you need to servive and good luck to life. Your friend a redneck that thinks of life on the otherside. Sakkkkkkkkkkkkkkk

Xena. I will say this. I ask who I'm speaking to and tell the truth. So who are you to tell me that I am harsh to my words. I have always looked to the child and even said from time to time. Don't read my work to a person I thought was young. And would not understand. So in placing what I did not a fool never to be. Yet life has shown me things that would send a chill to your gray. Thanks for the offer of fixing my misspelledwords yet I write from the cuff. So there will be a incorrect spelling from time to time my friend. Have a fine day and I say I will be just me forever and to the time I have on earth as a poet a mechanic a soldier of past.

Xena. I have taken the time to read your words yet I have no sorrow to any reply I have placed. In fact I think your words are misplaced. I write from the cuff and could give a well you understand. So I offer a flower a smell of tumnble weed. A smell of Indian paint brush mixed with lupen to your virtual vase. It seems to me that poets have and hold thier own dream. So what the heck don't read my work as you are free to choose what you wish to enjoy. Sakkkkkkkkkkkkkkk.