The most joy I ever had
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I lie in my bed, tired
Feeling pangs of trials, hard hitting
Heat flares in my flesh
I take a break often, closing my eyes
Weary from pain controlling my life
My joy soars, excelling my inner peace

One thing for certain... I know

That I don't know...
but archives someday will be unearthed
and
when I get the Nobel,
some guy will say
He/She edited it,
so goes my Nobel
As it is.
Archives or none
let's all have some fun.
Humor is the spice of life,
given by God not to critiques
but jokers of a circus
who we all know
are the qualified ones

So am I in the run…

what bucket must I carry?
to properly contain
all those caring
for my soul?
a soul I am assured
is nothing more
than metaphor
this practice
of asking me
what I believe
only to seek
a strategy of approach
to poke holes
In what others subscribe to
or choose not to devote to
is rather contrived
hold on a minute
does that negate my eternity?
Indeed!
in the Here and Now
I am ready to die
when that moment comes
rest assured I accept Nothing
but DMT

(Based on a story idea by Joe Kubert)

It’s Belgium ’44, the world’s at war.

The yuletide came and went, but brought no joy.

The Bulge is still a challenged corridor,

 yet with their progress troops now redeploy.                               4

And so the Private finds himself alone.

Awareness has returned and with it pain.

It must be night, he thinks, while lying prone,

for nothing can be seen of all the slain.                                         8

But then the man looks to the Prussian skies