Bits of Crumbs

leaving a trail for fate to find…


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Hour Final Our

Hour Final Our
by Richard A. Borbon
09/19/14

The sun kept all its light
that, day

The ground kept trying
to
close its mouth

Heinous pulled a
rusty,
knife

And stuck it!

In
the face, of reason

Every gust tore, off
Its wings

And laid beside
the white,
of black

The vultures, just
kept
flying by

Nature doesn’t want
us
back

Humanity is just,
a sore

That tried, to heal their
hate

If
there ever, was
a heaven

It disowned us, on
that day

We pretend, like all
is fine

And that’s, our
biggest
crime

Creation always, had
the
cure

That very simple, dose
of time


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The Present of Presence

The Present Of Presence
by Richard A. Borbon
09/18/14

I had a nice chat with the tree
in my back

It stands by a fence full of boards of its
own

It talks with its hands with the help
of the wind

The water I give it
it pays for
in shade

We both have been trying to, finish
a project

A puzzle that only consists
of one piece

The frame is the edges of
anguish
and time

I sit on a chair that I made
out of
laughter

Our lives all consist of, refusing
veracity

A body of faith with a, tale
of lies

Sometimes a wish is just simply,
a slap

That prints our own hand,
on the ass
of reality

To be, was not meant to be
swallowed,
up whole

Our butts were not made to sit
down
on deceit

The window see’s best
when we leave
down the blinds

Would there be love if we
never,
had minds

I fear that one day I will
meet
the damn truth

And know that I never, was
actually
born

That all of this pain was just
simply
a gift

That all of the darkness, pitched in
for itself

And light o light
that most, wonderful
promise

Looked in our eyes, and turned
slowly
away


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Have A Nice Trip See You Next…

Have A Nice Trip See You Next…
by Richard A. Borbon
09/17/14

The ground is stitched
with patchwork
orange

In gaudy truss from, being
gourd

Strings of beacons on
the vine

Juicy gripes are turned
to whine

The wind, is putting on
its coat

The marsh can reed the growth
It wrote

The stalks are up, the dew
is down

The year is turning back,
to brown

And the sky
is moving, to
the south

The roof, is sticking
to
its mouth

The bush is taking, off
its leaves

The tree is rolling up
its sleeves

And the sounds that skitter
‘neath the moon

Grab their goblets and
their spoons

Scooping brains until,
they bleed

Made of yuk and, pumpkin
seeds

The after second, quarter
calls

As summer trips and, finally
falls


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Fall Flavors

Fall Flavors
by Richard A. Borbon
09/16/14

The fields are taking off
their garments

Laying naked, in
the sun

All their skin is very soiled, all their reaping,
now
is done

And the real, estate
is in
the dirt
within the powdered earth

Every fall is measured by the harvest,
of its birth

Pumpkin weather, is,
upon us

Time, is sliding back

Every picture of
a war
is hanging, on a
tack

They say that all the fruit
we bear

Stays close, around
the tree

Every hope I
ever had

Is trying now,
to flee

All the season of the year
is sour
to my heart

Maybe I, will taste the sweetness
after
I depart


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The Best Mistake

* For the eleventh, of September

The Best Mistake
by Richard A. Borbon
09/11/14

Maybe the sky was just too beautiful
I guess, we’ll never know

Maybe fate just came to collect every, due
we owed

Maybe all the smiles we made were fewer
then, the frowns

Maybe scraping up the sky was really not too
sound

Hatred is a misconception that, we’re not
the same

Terror is the fear of change with just
another name

All we do is blame, the dark because
we cannot see

Who the hell told anyone, that joy is
guaranteed

I just want to grab the sky and choke it
from its air

Why did we invent the word, that we all know
as fair

We are what the universe created
for a voice?

Let us prey, on one another so
we can
rejoice

All the different thoughts, of life
are broken up
by lines

All the things we think
are right
are someone else’s,
crimes

Sometimes I am so, ashamed to simply
be a man

No one should,
be forced
to jump
from buildings, hand in hand

There will never be a victor
who receives the spoils

One day we may all become, the dust upon
the soil

Maybe then, we’ll finally bloom in all
our joyous shades

Maybe that has always been, the price
we had to pay

All we had to do was act, like children in
a park

All the life we lived on earth won’t even leave
a mark

Maybe someone else will finally get
another chance

Maybe we’re the best mistake
upon,
the great expanse


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Wounded Rain

Wounded Rain

by Richard A. Borbon

09/13/14

The land and ocean,

got divorced

But still they visit, now

and again

Two clouds embraced and, whet

their appetite

And unto to them a, river

born

But the river wanted, to return

to its mother

And so she slithered, toward

the sea

She got so tired along

the way

She turned the rocks, into

a bed

And there she bathes,

when no one’s,

watching

Behind the curtained water

fall

She finally got, to see her

mom

Waiting for her in, the

spray

They crashed into, each other’s

arms

Melding softly in

the surf

And all her sisters, followed

suit

Flowing down the path she

made

The shallow rut became

a brook

And then the drift became a

creek

Soon the ripples, started

raging

Moisture grinding, onto

rock

The ground conceded, giving

in

And now,

she had,

her home

A central valley as her,

house

That she could call, her

own

The hills are smiling at

his child

She looks at him, and

winks

They’re the veins upon

our, wrist

That we, are trying

to rip


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Balm Sunday

Balm Sunday

by Richard A. Borbon

Sunday 09/14/14

I wake in the morning and write

my prescription

A dosage of writing to help, me

feel well

And with every word I’m a, little

more healthy

I write every day, just to

save

my own life

It helps to relieve the hurt of my

tension

Fractures

of

stressfulness,

breaking,

me

down

The thoughts, I compose

start healing, the sickness

Of all the illness, of just,

being born

I am not well, inside

my own surface

That’s where I harbor behind, my own

hide

Trying to find that certain

elixir

Sometimes the treatment is worse

than the cure

I see it there now behind my

perception

Underneath piles, of promise, and

shame

And now once again, I write

a few wronging’s

A balm in the sky, is now

singing

its song