The Final Days of the School Year

Let me tell you my story through pictures
Because no words are needed to be said
About the traits of my adventures.
Let my bold actions tell the tale instead.
It starts by being trapped in a dark room
Working by the light of a computer.
Having no escape indicates my doom,
Making the in-pile harder to endure.
But my heart begins to make a demand
To breathe deeply the clean air of freedom,
So from behind my desk I take a stand
To return to the place where I came from.
There is a rock in my secret garden
Where I can sit and take the nature in.

In Anticipation of Solo/In Respone to the Last Jedi

Can expectations live up to the hype
Or will you feel hollow disappointment?
Will you nitpick what you have seen, and gripe
‘Bout wanting more from your entertainment?
What do you expect from an industry
Who wishes nothing more than your pleasure?
Why do you think those who make a movie
Are subject to a life of indenture?
When has it been your creativity
That has given us reason to applaud?
Do you understand how this scrutiny
Is regarded as words told from a fraud?
If you believe you can do better
Then take your turn being the court jester.

 

The Night Market

The night is when we take over the roads
With all of our trinkets and wares to sell.
We put up our tents and unpack our loads
Of colorful textiles with their bright spells.
Would you please unhinge your fat money clip
To give away your valuable bills?
In exchange in your backpack you can slip
The stuff you have earned with your shopping thrills.
We can both move on with each satisfied
About what we have done in this market.
Thoughts of Communism is all that died
As the world fights for what it wants to get.
We will shuffle off in the rising dawn
Wondering where the night market has gone.