Alien Abduction

Ten little, dreadful things
crawled all up my insides.

Nine ugly, fat machines
prodded me from all my sides.

Eight buggers wiped me clean.
My naked body, lacking pride.

Seven nights it was, it seems.
Yet through time, nothing hides.

Six punctures to my spleen,
I couldn’t believe my own eyes.

Five thousand feet in air
or we maybe higher flew.

Four knives shaved all my hair,
‘gainst my protest, loud though few.

Three cold probes were stuck in there,
And now I am afraid to poo

Two big black eyes showed no care
and their hands lacked feeling too.

Once more, I’ll my protest air
simply to say, next could be you.

Is it you or is it me?

Everyone is made of wax.
A slight amount of heat is enough to set a person melting.
Else give them a good pelting,
throwing stone after stone at their heads.
They will only get stuck there.

Why does everyone keep their fears inside?
I think it’s because they fear what’s outside.
Not judging, just making observations.

Molded in their heads; the thoughts never freed.

It just so happens right now,
that offenses dropped, guards let way down,
an opening has occurred.
Shall we fly, quick, in the bird?
Pondering over the injustice,
gently considering death?

Poetry, I guess

At times, tainted life of light will shatter.

When it hits some undiscovered matter,

Say the ground, or a plane, or even you,

darkness comes, and you’ll wonder what to do.

Your life is like that short, or long, lived light.

Nothing matters if your day is so bright

that, should the days of others be clouded,

your joy makes all fear become unshrouded.

Out in the open with nowhere to hide

exists the choice of letting fear decide.

Only when light reveals an empty night,

can we put aside our near-constant fright.





I have no idea what makes a good poem…