Run Off


It has always been

the ebb and flow.

The tide recedes

and invades.

The summer sun.

The spring time rain.

Mountain run off

floods the plain,

and washes all of us away.


The playful hands.

The kindest face

becomes enraged

and fists and claws replace

trust and everything.


Give a little take.

Take a little more.

Smells like something died

under the snow,

and it’s rotting

as the weather warms.


This is it;

A vicious cycle

of vicarious abuse.

Eating what’s before us,

not because it’s good for us,

but because we’re afraid

of being rude.


That’s enough of that.

“Good enough” was never true.

We lied to the sky

and painted blue

that ceilings of our jail cells,

but it wasn’t the perfect hue.


Long overdue

for a spring time rain to come.

Gotta wash it clean,

before the summer sun

sets in,

and the flies hatch.


I think this year’s gonna be bad.



 I think I’ll keep on

waiting on the next one.

I should probably keep my guns,



you never know.


When the ice flows

block the roads

and the tide comes in.

Here we go again.

Waiting on that spring time rain.



HG – 2020

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