OCTOBER

THE EXPERIMENT CONTIUNES…

2018 promises to be an adventure in writing. I met the first challenge to write last year. I hope to continue to be inspired.

MY SWEET

You cut me down, Without a sound. You cut me deep, And watched me seep. You cut that part, That held my heart, That kept me from falling apart. Now I am in pieces, As my life ceases. Now I am broken, Nothing but a token. Now the dirt covers me, Until there is nothing left to see. Why couldn’t you just let me be? I know this all sounds so bad, But don’t be to sad. Because in the in you’ll be glad. It’s not what it might seem, But a bit of a bad dream. You see this is about ice cream. It’s not fake , it’s cake. It fell into the dirt, From someone not alert. It’s not like it would have hovered, In it lies now in the dirt just covered. No one loves it anymore. Even though at its core, It’s still sweet. It lays melting into the street. © 2018 Gerald Ealy 

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THE HATE OOZED Then the hate oozed out. Of every pore and hole, Every slit and mole. That festering, burning wrath. That shaking, quaking, Spasm of the soul, Simply for not reaching a goal. Hate fanned by bodiless words. Images on screens with no context, Urging violence unaware of what’s next. That evil reared its head. Twisting the memory and dream, To bear witness when there was none it seems. Only the hollow echo of horror unfounded. It was in the chamber when sounded. Worse than that hate, Was those caught in the wake, in the change of fate. No one can say. Only that little girls still pray. But that didn’t matter anyway. Justice will prevail. There’s confirmation. There is still time for the nation. Time enough for answered prayer Time enough for us to care. Love conquers hate every time It’s time to put down the sign. Look if you have eyes Find true answer to your whys. Using your mind to sort through the lies. Stop screaming at the sky. Banish fear with enlightened knowledge, Not of rhetoric from college. Find out for yourself, Open the book upon the shelf. For if you find the time to engage, There is no time for rage. © 2018 Gerald Ealy 

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  HARMONY AND DISCORD

Harmony , oh , Harmony where has your sweet sound gone? The balance of the melody seems to have gone wrong. Your evil brother, Discord has twisted the melodic tune. He only wants destruction and see everything in ruin. Strike that chord, oh Harmony, Forego Discord’s refrain. His firey music burns deeply, Leaving only pain. Harmony, oh, Harmony why has your music faded? It’s left the world in chaos now, with hearts turned cruel and jaded. Your evil brother, Discord is striking up a fugue, Fueling dark intentions and darker deeds pursued. Strike that chord, oh Harmony, Enlighten Discord’s views Fill his heart with compassion, Harmony, be his Muse. Harmony, oh, Harmony we need more than ever. You must not allow Discord to complete is wicked endeavor. Your evil brother, Discord is picking up the pace. We need your resolve and order to finally take his place. Strike that chord, oh Harmony, Discord seems to be winning. More blood and hate and minds irate, I fear is just the beginning. Harmony? Sweet Harmony, you are drowned out by the noise. Discord plays with our lives, And forsakes them like old toys. Harmony! Bring trumpets! Bring drums and storm and thunder. Cast out this chaos in our lives. Bring love, and peace and wonder. Harmony play an soothe the souls, Wrought with dark desire. Turn that hate to passion, Redirect their fire. Play on Sweet Harmony, Play that song of peace. Break the spell cast on us. Gives us our release. © 2018 Gerald Ealy 

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  AN INCANTATION

It is the blood that binds, In weaving fibers it entwines. A spell of conjuring compels the dead, To rise from slumber from their earthen bed. It is not evil that makes it so, But strength of will and power grow. A dash dust from a forgotten grave, A pinch of hope that someone gave. A moonlit night to set the mood, When raising up the coming brood. Only souls still bound in sorrow, Will rise with moonlight on the morrow. A chance to see the surface nears, Their rotting forms to insight fears.  But come the morning of All Saints Day, The magic spell will fade away. The dead once more will sleep and not stir And things will be as they once were. All may not be what it seems, When walking the streets on Halloween. © 2018 Gerald Ealy 

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