it is i who carries the keys
turn the locks of the caged
oh, but i think me to be mad
to live a life so staged;
it is i who prepares the food
feeds the creatures big and small
oh, but i think me to be mad
lost in the routine of it all;

it is they who peer through bars
they- who must be fed
they- who pace thoughtlessly
they- who know of no other means;
oh, but it is i who is alone
i- who sees the cage
i- for which their hunger thirsts
i- never a thought in my mind

A Storyteller Is Born Dramatic Verse Workshop

I watched in wonderment
as she talks about writing dramatic poetry
she sits here on her iPad lost in another world.
I called her name
to break the spell she seems to be under.
soliloquy a new word for me
and apparently for her too.

She rambles on a lot
causing me to tune her out
her enthusiasm for this subject
has caught my attention.

Today I'm weeping like never before,
the merit, my virtue, and some few more.
I'm weeping a bleeding, my motherhood's, tossed,
together with many in wars are lost.

I'm weeping and pillows shall never dry
for they alone can hear my nightly cry.
I'm weeping today what never before,
the merit, my virtue and some few more.

I'm weeping myself, a once decent mother,
who always wanted her kids the better,
till once the war showed its filthy game,
and changed my virtue, my middle name.

I smiled as the room cleared,
my birthday they wanted shared.
Yet I couldn’t stand the hypocrisy,
of a gathering with my family.

I thought thank God I am alone
There is only so much I can share
A family at my age why should I care
I was in my chair with only the phone.

Talk to me you shit, ring damn you
Shrill sounds rocked the room
Thought I was psychic at the noise.
It was one of the departed boys.