Death.

Poem.

Man comes from dirt or so I’ve been told but it’s one thing to come from dirt and quite another to be treated as such. Downcast… how many should be angels have treated me as nothing; for once in my life I look at them just as lowly.

Attempts by man to exterminate dangerous insects have ended in failure.

Many places have creepy, crawling things in them or near by. Sometimes those things are yucky and gross. But everything has the right to live and die as they want to.

Leave work at work, don’t take it home.

This poem was written during finals week at my school.

Depression can have you on your knees.

Beware of the seductress…

Poem about the memories of of an older woman now, and of her grandmother, and times she spent with her….