| Personal Fury
The men, They send, The mightiest will bend. The kill, Does spill, With an awful chill. The blood, Will flood, Into the mud. The women, Were driven, Away from the living. The hate, Broken slate, What will end the wait? Donald Horn Copyright �2004 Donald Horn |
| Stand With Me
In the light of ones sorrow, I can only begin to say, How much we are to borrow, To start each and every day. With what I hold, Could be spent in such a way, Is not what you have told, For there is none in my tray. Allow me to share with you, All that I have been given, For you are certainly true, Because you are to be driven. Work everyday with me, Not to hesitate or fight, Nor try to flee, But to stand into the light. Giving up what you most desire, Not letting anyone stand alone, For I am about to retire, Into someone elses home. Donald Horn Copyright �2004 Donald Horn |
| Sweeping the Mind
From morning till noon, I walk beneath the full blue sky, Searching for the many wonders, That fills the earth with delite. Yet the moments of time, Comes around every corner, Seeking what most often wonder about, Leaving behind bits and pieces of wisdom. Now comes the time for every person to do their part, Changing the senery as we go by, And enhancing the land with our wisdom, Allowing others to see our work. Come one, come all, See what has been left behind, Bring with you your open minds, To see what has been set before you. Challenge thy thoughts with eyes wide open, And your mind as clear as water, Showing your interest with great ease, As the tides of day passes by. Donald E Horn Copyright �2004 Donald Horn |
| The Bad Lands
Heavenly Scent, nothing Spent, Worldly pent, not just rent, One turn after another turn, Free from your mothers burn. Children here, but gone, Weaping near, how wrong, Never more, beaten to the spore, Ouch! I am sore, but gratefully tore. Idiots drove, but luckily I dove, People's grove, only to be owed, Chariots are flaming, order needs taming, Horses are manning, And cranes are gaining. Meat hooks a flying, even though I am trying, to never buying, without any lieing, Freedom comes and goes, Only drums, but no woes. Donald Edward Horn Copyright �2004 Donald Horn |
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