NAPKIN WORDS #74 2011 - Dedicated to Mike Prevor

1. A WRITTEN WORD IS WISER
Once, not too long ago, oral history told of sagas,
tragedies, all that was life. To insure that this
history could be kept, writing was invented and
the written word allowed the multitudes to read
and know what life was, is, and even imagine what
will follow.

Today, the visual tells the eye, and if truth be told,
it does not keep in the mind, so imagination dies!

2. THE PULL OF IT ALL
Age attracts time like a magnet.

Once it feels the pull, it attaches. When that
happens, they become mated, the attraction is
completed.

No more will time and age again be attracted!

3. WHO IS THE BENEFACTOR
Serenity is the great gift that one donates to
their life.

It cannot be given by others.

Insure that you make this donation.

It is the true gift of life!

4. LIFE SIGHT
The eye knows what it sees if it sees with
insight, thought, the kindness of care.

Else the eye can deceive, tricked by a magician
which we call deceit!

5. THOSE ODD WRITTEN WORDS
I wonder if it is just me, or have others noticed
that in literature, each time a frog has something
to say in a human voice, things mostly go bad for
the one who hears?

6. LIFE AS A PAPER NAPKIN
It can be used to wipe a stain, or carry words
worthy of life.

You are the user, do what you will.

It is paper, it can easily accomplish either task!

7. WHAT IT IS MADE OF
Every road in life has a foundation.

By knowing what that foundation is made of,
you will know what type of footwear to have
so that the walk will be easier, and the journey
will be wiser!

8. THE GREATEST WATCHMAKER
Nature, a great teacher of time to all things!

HORRORS OF MODERN TIMES

History is tragedy, flesh torn, bones broken,
life is gone.

Why, oh God, is great light brightly lit displaying
clearly horrors upon horrors, sharp, slicing rays,
icy sparkles illuminating pores, hearts, minds,
odors and taste, to evil deeds done everyday?

Shattering futures, peepers we all, trying to see
into these newly made corners of darkest darkness,
brooms of past, that by memories blight, sweep our
forgiveness into light.

A grace of legacy, an ancient scrubbing clean that
crying soul of another being.

Thereby creating flowing springs of fiction, causing
a waterfall pouring forgiveness, drenching all those
wishing to be saved.

Here, where witnesses still describe death, as well as
lips crying in prayer, asking, over and over, asking, “How
shall mankind dwell with God, if as we live we fail to
see good?”

Then the horrors return in another land, to other victims,
the horror wheel moves, forever it spins, until the white
ball of fate falls into place, that spine, that child, that kind old lady. The loop of hate is unending, these horrors of ours in these modern times.


by Edward Hunter