What In The HELL?

One day,

Out of the blue,

Two tiny marks were noticed,

Upon a thumb,

“Where the fuck,

Did these come from”!?

Was the thought,

Until the mind,

Was practically numb.

 

Little brownish red dots,

That looked a lot like tiny birthmarks,

Why were they,

Never noticed before?

They couldn’t be recent

But they weren’t remembered,

As being there,

Just a year or two before.

 

Into the head came a notion,

Was this proof of past lives?

Once someone had said,

The fear of certain fanged brutes,

Was likely due to being bitten,

While alive,

In another lifetime,

And this is why,

The feeling of panic,

While in their presence,

Never subsided,

No matter how much,

Time had elapsed.

 

In theory,

Fang marks,

Are only made,

By things infected by dark,

But are they really polluted?

Because after all,

They had ancestors once,

On Noah’s Ark.

 

There was strong suspicion that they might,

Be from a snake bite,

There was,

After all,

The infliction of a phobia,

But was that all paranoia?

Or was that fear founded by an incident,

And therefore legitimate?

 

Though there are tons of creatures,

Sporting fangs,

Not all result,

In the night terrors,

For instance,

It’s known a house cat,

Would not do that,

But who’s to say,

They weren’t wandering in the jungle,

And met head on,

By a lion?

 

But oh yes,

That jungle beast’s mouth,

Would be too big to leave these marks,

That little kitty though,

Righto! – that one’s a maybe……………

 

At one point in the past,

Could there have been a Mer,

Who played in ponds,

And swam in seas?

So many creepy critters,

Occupy these places,

And many are with,

Tiny fanged faces,

Yes this one is actually,

A real possibility……………

 

Very well,

I’ll admit there is no way here,

To be totally and absolutely sure,

Just the same,

These marks are pointing favorably,

Toward this being right,

It’s so strange they seemed to surface,

Pretty much overnight,

Even so I think it’s clear,

These marks were put,

On a former version of a self,

By the object of their deepest fear.

Precipitation Won’t Kill You

Is there anything worthwhile about the rain?

You ask because there is the fact,

That it can be a fuckin pain,

While rain can bring on dreariness,

To you I must confess,

That from it yes,

There is much to gain.

 

Up in the White Mountain State,

Me and her would sit and watch it fall,

From the barn,

In a cozy stall,

So much for a ride,

Because lightning just struck,

And then thunder boomed,

But when it was over,

It would cause her yummy grass to bloom.

 

Memories get made by many,

When snow falls aplenty,

Nothing really can compare,

To a snow day that is issued,

When the rain falls hard,

And then hits one of those,

Cold pockets of air.

 

Ponds and streams,

Throughout woods and jungles,

Tastes as grand as ice cream,

To those wild and free,

Now tell me,

Without any rainfall,

Just where would they be?

 

It’s a hot summer day,

You’re craving the beach,

Down by the bay,

And as you’re there de-stressing in the sun,

You think to yourself,

“Wouldn’t it be downright delightful,

If each day was this bright,

I wouldn’t mind a couple years’ worth,

Of days just like today”,

But imagine if you will,

A dry, dry Earth,

Never having any rain,

Meaning no water and no bay,

Now you see how all that sunshine,

Would probably cost you your favorite pastime.

 

Well now,

That’s been put into perspective,

I hope the rain now gets,

At least a wee bit of fuckin respect.