Showing posts with label Death. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Death. Show all posts

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

Happy Birthday Christina



Christina-Taylor Green was born September 11, 2001 and died January 8, 2011. This coming Sunday would have been her 10th birthday...

Happy birthday Christina,
Happy birthday to you.
Happy birthday Christina.
This poem's for you.
Happy birthday Christina.
It will soon be 10 years.
The day you were born.
All mankind shed tears.
Happy birthday Christina.
May the world celebrate.
Your life's bold beginning,
Was it irony or fate?

The day that you died.

Brought back repressed fears.
With each passing tide,
We wish you were here.
You were so innocent.
Like those that day.
God called you to heaven,
In a symbolic way.
Happy birthday Christina.
Are 10 candles enough?
To hallow the names,
Of those we all loved.
Rest now Christina.
As three thousand bells toll.
May your spirit be with us.
May God bless your soul.
Happy birthday Christina,
Pray your new life's serene.
We were blessed to have known you,
Christina-Taylor Green.

Forever soothe trepid dreams.



Copyright © September 2011
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
090711

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

Happy Birthday Christina

Christina-Taylor Green was born September 11, 2001 and died January 8, 2011. This coming Sunday would have been her 10th birthday...


Happy birthday Christina.
Soon it will be 10 years.
We all remember the day you were born.
It was the day the entire world mourned.
The day all mankind shed tears.

Happy birthday Christina.
I wish that you were still here.
The day you died the whole world cried.
You were just standing innocently by.
Your death brought back all our fears.

Happy birthday Christina.
May the whole world celebrate.
Three thousand souls' bells were tolled,
Before you were even one day old.
Was it irony or fate?

Happy birthday Christina.
10 candles just won't be enough.
To hallow with flames three thousand names,
Eternally shame those to blame.
Condemn those responsible caught.

Happy birthday Christina.
You died symbolically.
God called you to heaven in 2011,
The same year as Osama Bin Laden.
Before the 10th anniversary.

Christina-Taylor Green.

Happy birthday Christina,
Happy birthday to you.
Happy birthday Christina.
We were all blessed by you.
We still miss you, too.

This poem's for you.


Copyright © September 2011
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
090411

Sunday, September 4, 2011

Atomic Picnic

Oh Mommy, Mommy, look at the cloud,
It's shaped like a big mushroom.
I've never heard fireworks quite so loud,
Will it be over soon?

Oh Darling, what a spot you found.
What a fantastic view.
Other families spread out all around,
All having a good time too.

Oh Mommy, Mommy, what's that smell?
Is something burning somewhere?
I think it's the sky, it's hard to tell,
Is it coming from over there?

Oh Darling, what a nice lunch you've made.
You're such a wonderful cook.
The weather's perfect, it's a beautiful day,
It's just like a storybook.

Oh Mommy, Mommy, did you feel the ground?
Was that a little earthquake?
Did the people in that little town,
Survive the rumble and shake?

Oh kids, don't worry, it's not over yet,
The fun's just begun.
This is something you'll never forget,
You and everyone.

Oh Darling, this day couldn't get any better,
But isn't it kind of ironic?
A picnic together you want to last forever,
Turns out to be atomic.


Copyright © September 2011
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
090411

Friday, August 26, 2011

A Gunslinger's Last Request



To whom it may concern:

Bury my bones on 'Ole Boot Hill,
Down El Paso way.
I'm at the end of life's lonesome trail,
I'm saying goodbye today.

I've ridden many dusty roads,
I've killed a man or two.
The way I see it, I suppose,
My time's 'bout overdue.

I've outrun my share of lawman,
Escaped many a mess.
I've outdrawn lesser gunmen,
Was faster then all the rest.

I been lucky up to now,
Life's been good to me.
The time's come now to bid farewell,
I do so honorably.

Bury me up on 'Ole Boot Hill,
With my Colt 45.
Lay me in my spurs and heals,
Arms crossed, not at my side.

No need for tears, no need to pray,
Just a board or stone,
Not in too shallow a grave.
To rest my weary bones.

Bury me up on 'Ole Boot Hill,
Before my flesh decays.
As for any parting words,
Here's what they should say:

In this grave are 'Ole Pete's bones,
The fastest gun these parts have known.
Spent most his life on the run.
He finally met a faster gun.


Copyright © August 2011
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
082511

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

Seal Team Six Solstice Psalm

Aug 6, 2011, KABUL, Afghanistan (AP) — 30 American service members — 22 of them elite Navy SEALs — died Saturday when their Chinook helicopter was shot down about 60 miles southwest of Kabul...

This is dedicated to those that died. This is an acrostic...


Coalition US led,
Operation, 30 dead.
Political patriotic pawns,
Typical post Islamic palm.
Every parents' worst nightmare,
Reprehensive cursed warfare.
Did they die needlessly?
Obama please, can't you see.
Will you end the suffering?
Now's the time, don't you agree?

Osama drama still at hand,
Segregate the Kali-ban.
American special service plan,
Militia's sacrificial lamb.
Anti-aircraft missile toll,
Single shot south of Kabul.
Rest in peace young sacred sons,
Eternal sleep's the prize you won.
Vindication now in hand?
Evacuate Afghanistan.
Navy Seal Team Six's song,
Gallantry, right or wrong.
Elite soldier's solstice psalm.


Copyright © August 2011
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
080811

Thursday, August 4, 2011

Ever Wonder?



Ever wonder where you'll be,
When the time has come?
What you'd hear, what you'd see,
When your time is done?

What if you met God today?
Would you know what to say?
Do you think you'd know his face?
Would he seem out of place?

What if Jesus passed you by,
On the street? If he said hi?
Do you think you'd know it was him?
Short, heavy, tall or thin?

Do you think he'd say hello?
Extend his hand, chat then go?
What do you suppose he'd think of this place?
Would he be proud or disgraced?

Would you even recognize,
The sad, pained look in his eyes?
Do you think you would see,
If the future is to be?

One thing's certain, He'll come one day.
He'll walk among us in a normal way.
He'll probably be like you or I.
Blend right in, a regular guy.

He'll see how we have come to be,
A self-absorbed society.
Concerned mostly for ourselves,
With little regard for anyone else.

I'm sure he'll bow his head in shame.
Find himself the one to blame.
He'll recognize those good things.
Acknowledge pain and suffering.

And when it's finally time to leave,
He'll take with him those who believe.
Those who've prospered at others' expense,
Will cower at his omnipotence.

In the end, come judgement time,
It's in the heart that most men find,
The humility, truth, faith and love.
That comes from trust in God above.

Ever wonder where you'll be?
When that time does come?
Ever wonder if you'll be,
Among God's chosen ones?


Copyright © August 2011
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
080411

Saturday, July 23, 2011

Christopher Colin Sinclair

No one ever had the flair of Christopher Sinclair.
He was quite debonair,
Had a certain savoir-faire,
A thirty-something millionaire,
He turned heads everywhere
Did Christopher Colin Sinclair.

No, nobody quite compared to Christopher Sinclair.
He took pride in others' stares.
Had the most perfect hair,
Shoulders strong, perfectly square,
The man stood out anywhere,
Did Christopher Colin Sinclair.

He had no time for others' affairs,
Nor did he pretend to care.
Though always well aware,
He was crass and insincere,
Good fortune had was never shared,
By Christopher Colin Sinclair.

But all was not as it appeared, for Mr. Chris Sinclair.
A second life was revealed,
A pedophile charge concealed.
A past offense proved unreal.
A sentence passed, turned on appeal.
Soon everybody knew the real, Christopher Colin Sinclair.

The once good name now was smeared, of Christopher Sinclair.
People whispered, sneered and leered,
Private gawk soon turned to jeers,
His fame and fortune disappeared.
No, no one dared venture near,
This vile man loathed and feared.

As time went by, no one cared, for the sinister Sinclair.
His face now drew disgusted stares.
To see him publicly grew rare.
His was now an empty chair,
He might as well have not been there,
The perverted Mister Sinclair.

The papers read he died in bed,
Alone, distraught the article said.
A wealthy man, one well bred,
Shot himself in the head.
A single shot that barely bled,
Left Christopher Sinclair dead.

When people heard they did not care.
His funeral had no one there.
No eulogy, no thoughts or prayers.
It seemed a shame, somewhat unfair,
That no one shed a single tear.
For Christopher Colin Sinclair.



Copyright © July 2011
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
072311

Friday, July 15, 2011

A Unique Eulogy




To all those gathered here...

Please don't mourn for me this day,
Celebrate instead.
Remember all the good times had,
All the things we did.

As I gaze upon the faces,
Of those I won't forget.
I thank God for all His grace,
I have no true regrets.

To all the friends that I hold dear,
Your thoughts now comfort me.
There's no need to shed a tear,
For I've lived life fully.

To my children and to theirs,
I cherish the memories.
I live in you, I'll be there,
To guide you in your dreams.

To my beloved, my one true love,
The one I'll miss the most.
Please be strong for both of us,
Know I'm always close.

Without you by my side,
I'd be an empty frame.
You're my rock, my everything,
I know you feel the same.

Live your life joyfully,
We'll soon reunite.
And be together eternally,
In God's majestic light.


Copyright © July 2011
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
071511

Sunday, May 15, 2011

They Just Called Her Liz

 
This is an acrostic...

Lass and Roddy's Velvet prize,
Adolescent adored.
Star with striking violet eyes,
Took MGM by storm.
Hollywood Little Woman,
Older men's delight.
Luscious and voluptuous,
Lady of a Knight.
Yesteryear Fischer goddess,
Warner's chosen one.
Oscar's 2-time winning actress,
Owned own place in the sun.
Diva before Divas were known,
Insatiable at best.
Cleopatra celluloid clone
Original Wolf-ess.
Noted as The Best.


Copyright © May 2011
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
051511

Poor Miss Cynthia Weir

Miss Cynthia Weir wore her hair rolled up in a bun.
She was slight, unsociable, avoided everyone.
Her glasses were unusual, the cat-like pointed kind.
She looked like a librarian or someone almost blind.

Most folks never noticed her, she was plain you see.
She wore average looking clothes, dressed somewhat modestly.
She liked shoes and large handbags that never seemed to match.
No Cynthia, most would say, was not much of a catch.

One day Miss Cynthia Weir did not come to work.
She did not call anyone or even leave a word.
Her co-workers called several times but never got a reply.
They finally called the authorities when several days went by.

When they went to Cynthia's house, Cynthia wasn't found.
Her neighbors said she lived alone and hadn't been around.
Her car was parked just outside, locked and full of gas.
Had Cynthia even been inside was the question asked.

No one had seen or heard from her. No one seemed to care.
It was like Miss Cynthia had vanished into thin air.
She had no friends or family to contact anywhere.
Yes, my friends there was just no more Miss Cynthia Weir.

They checked hospitals, checked the morgue, even checked the jail.
They went through her belongings, phone records and mail.
The authorities looked high and low but it was to no avail.
After several months went by her house went up for sale.

No one ever found her. Perhaps they never will.
A year's gone by and still no sign. It all seems so surreal.
Most folks have forgotten her and when she disappeared.
But I can't help but remember, poor Miss Cynthia Weir.


Copyright © May 2011
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
051511

Oh So Many, Oh So Few

No one really knew her or what she claimed to be,
A queen of propaganda, virgin of the sea.
Those that dared to ride her,
Now lay down beside her,
Haunting those survivors,
Of her maiden odyssey.

Born to bear the brunt of praise and pageantry,
Hers was but a stunt in superfluity.
Though her name belied her,
No one dared deny her,
Fame could not disguise her
Sunken vanity.

Fifteen hundred souls lie lost beneath the sea.
Each a cold reminder how fragile life can be.
Unsinkable they said,
Unthinkable the dead,
Arrogance and tears shed,
For posterity.

Generations will reflect on her tragedy.
Honor and pay respect to all her misery.
Soberly they'll try,
Ask and question why,
So many souls had to die,
And so few live to see.

May you all RIP...


Copyright © May 2011
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
051511

Friday, January 14, 2011

With All That's Happening

The sun came up, a child was born
It was a beautiful thing.
He was proclaimed a King.

Some heard an Angel sing.

No one knew, to the world,
What that child would mean.
The hope his life would bring.

As a man he would demand,
A change in society.
Race equality.

A place where freedom rings.

On April 4th in '68, at 6:01 p.m.
A shot changed everything.
A single bullet bore through him,
And martyrdom did bring.

To Martin Luther King.

The sun came up, a child was born,
It was a wonderful thing.
Some heard Angels sing.

Christina Taylor Greene.

No one knew the day before,
What that day would bring..
Twin towers fell in a fiery hell,
A nation lay dying.

Lord what was happening?

Amid the strife, a single life,
Helped to ease some pain.
No one knew that her life,
Would break our hearts again.

It was just a matter of when.

The sun came up that Saturday morn,
It was a trivial thing.
As normal as can be.

Amid good weather, folks came together,
For a social gathering,
A political happening.

All knew well, Ms Gabrielle,
And showed support for her.
Not knowing what would occur.

Except Jared Lee Loughner.

Amid pained shouts, shots rang out,
Innocent people died.
With loved ones by their side.

Those that watched just cried.

Among the dead, Christina bled,
Another martyr born.
The target of his scorn?

An entire nation mourned.

In the aftermath, people have,
Tried to reason why.
Christina had to die.

So many innocent lives.

In days gone by, birds have died,
Fish in multitudes.
Floods have ravaged Australia,
Volcanoes erupted too.

Is the whole world coming unglued?

With all that's happening should man be grappling,
With what his future holds?
Did Martin die for you and I?
Was the rapture put on hold?
Was a September 11th child's tragic death,
A sign of things to come?
Is what's happening around the world,
A message for everyone?

Has the end begun?


Copyright © January 2011
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
120410

Saturday, October 23, 2010

October




This is for my dad...

Its that time of year again,
When nature sheds its skin.
Leaves turn brown,
Hit the ground,
Decay and then blend in.

Its a time to gather,
Harvest family and friends.
To recollect,
Pay respect,
Count blessings and make amends.

Its a time to plow and reap,
Clear fields and restore.
Time to save,
What you crave,
Then pray to God for more.

Its when young couples marry,
Brand new lives begin.
Heartfelt praise,
On wedding days,
Become much more than friends.

Its when those passed are buried,
Fond memories laid to rest.
When grounds are sewn,
With those we've known,
Fall's fertile soils are blessed.

Its a time of reflection,
To prepare for life to end.
To recognize,
To realize,
Just how good life has been.

Its a time of contemplation,
Of what you value most.
Tranquility,
Serendipity,
Thank the Holy Ghost.

October's always meant to me,
A good time to atone.
A season when,
My best friend,
Set out on his own.

Fall's a solemn season,
Warm somber feelings, sad.
That time of year,
Of hope and fear,
When God took home my dad.


Copyright © October 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
102310

Sunday, October 3, 2010

Downpour (a psalm)




Whenever life's constant grind seems to get you down. Turn to God and you will find no better friend around. This is a psalm for those that feel completely overwhelmed...

Lord, wash away my sorrows,
Cleanse me to my core.
Ease the heartaches that I swallow,
Pave the path you'd have me follow,
Prepare me for those tomorrows,
I may see no more.

Lord, I rest within thy word,
Commit to thy control.
Though my vision may be blurred,
My faith will never be deterred,
Eternal life through thoust assured,
To you submit my soul.

Lord, everyday the sun does rise,
Though clouds may taint my view.
I take solace you are wise,
Forgive my sins and countless lies,
Love me without compromise,
Make my life anew.

Lord, when the rain will not refrain,
Life's troubles have no end.
Give me strength to sustain,
The fortitude to not complain,
The will to rise above the pain,
To survive and win.

Lord, in the end your my best friend,
The one that I turn to.
Through mental storms' relentless winds,
Life's downpours and endless sins,
Let death not be where my life ends,
I place my trust in You.


Copyright © September 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
093010

BD Boulevard



There's place on the edge of town,
Where spirits often gather.
They appear when no ones around,
To share and drink together.
Entities of personalities,
Hollywood's hallowed names.
Eternity's celebrities,
Heaven's walk of fame.
They fantasize and reminisce,
About good times and the bad.
They drink to lives they all miss,
Drown sorrows each one's had.
The bar is lined with Father Time's,
Ghosts of darkened screens.
They raise their glasses synchronized,
Toast fan hearkened scenes.
If one happens to catch a glimpse,
For one fleeting split second.
In the blink of eye they dispense,
Into wisps of plasmic essence.
Outside bright lights and neon signs,
Cast shadows and hope-filled beams.
While honored stars seek encores,
On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams.


Copyright © September 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
093010

Friday, September 17, 2010

A Special Guest For Dinner




I stopped on my way home from work,
To pick up a few extra things.
A bottle of wine, some tall red candles,
A dessert and vanilla ice cream.
I'm having a guest for Dinner,
And I want everything just right.
I don't want to appear like a beginner,
On this one very special night.

I have the main course cooking,
It simply smells delicious.
The lights are dim, the air is fresh,
I've set out my best china dishes.
He'll be here any minute,
Let me check just one more time.
Maybe a little more garlic in it,
The stew I've made tastes just fine.

I go over to the refrigerator,
And open the freezer door.
It's full of bags of severed meat,
All frozen to the core.
In the center two eyes just stare,
Through a zip locked Glad freezer bag.
They're both looking straight at me,
Surprised and somewhat sad.

I grab some ice, adjust what's there,
Lady fingers, giblets and feet.
I take a quick mental inventory,
Of all the tidbits I still have to eat.
Stuff to make liver with onions,
Fresh soups and kidney stew.
Enough to feed me and my guests,
For another week or two.

I'm really looking forward,
To this evenings special guest.
We met at a bar the weekend before,
He just stood out from all the rest.
He's well traveled and debonair,
A doctor of some sort it seems.
He has a refined elegant air,
And a taste for fava beans.

I hope I don't seem too presumptuous,
Remain calm and self-contained.
I found him to be quite scrumptious.
I would love to pick his brain.
I'm wreathing with anticipation,
Perspiring just a bit.
I have a renewed appreciation,
For how nervous some people get.

Relax, take a breath, it's almost time,
The table's all been set.
Cleaver, pairing and carving knives,
Are as sharp as they can get.
Sterling silver dinnerware,
And a bottle of Chianti wine,
A touch of elegant savior faire,
And some chloroform's just fine.

A car, he's here, another breath,
A quick look in the mirror.
I see myself and I see death,
And embrace it's debt and horror.
The door bell rings, I'm feeling calmer,
The fun's about to begin.
I open the door, hear hello Mr. Dahmer,
Doctor Lechter, won't you please come in.


Copyright © September 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
091710

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

Timothy (the day F. Murray fell)



Timothy McVeigh was executed June 11, 2001 for his role in the April 19, 1995 bombing in Oklahoma City which killed 168 people. This is a revised version of the '70's song Timothy by the Buoys.

A horrendous crime, the thirteenth sin,
No one had ever heard of them,
A friend and a man named Tim.

A Ryder truck that was rented then,
Filled with 2 tons of ammonium,
That April 19th, '95 a.m.

Timothy, Timothy, no one was watching you,
Timothy, Timothy, what the hell did you do.

F. Murray fell at 9:02,
That's when the Ryder rental blew.
No one knew exactly what, to do.

168 found dead,
19 children reporters said,
The heart of a nation, bled.

Timothy, Timothy, who was working with you?
Timothy, Timothy, God if we only knew.

As billions of lights shined down on them,
Oklahoma City's pride set in.
Despite the tragic end.

90 minutes later a cop stopped him.
A firearms charge leveled then,
They arrested the man named Tim.

Timothy, Timothy, all the world blames you.
Timothy, Timothy, my God what did you do.

It was 1997 when,
The jury selection would finally begin,
They then convicted, Tim.

They found a man Nichols conspired with him
,June 2001 was when,
They killed the man named Tim.

Timothy, Timothy, Satan's now looking at you.
Timothy, Timothy, your time was overdue.

There's nothing you could say,
You're not missed to this day,
Timothy, Timothy, McVeigh.


Copyright © September 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
091210

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

Pet Cementary Epitaphs

As I ponder my lifetime,
I think of those I've left behind.
Ghosts of family and lost friends,
Memories my mind holds in.

But those that seem to haunt me most,
Are those of loved ones I held close.
Ghosts I seem to never forget,
Echoes of all my long lost pets.

George

Here lies George, my dad's old cat,
Pearly White and not too fat.
He always came whenever we'd call,
His favorite game was fetch a ball.

Dominique & Felipe

Dominique & brother Felipe
Toy French Poodles quite unique.
They always fought for mom's affection,
Their love for her beyond exception.

Lady

Lady and mom never got along,
Growling at her was where she went wrong.
She never meant to do any harm,
I think that's why she went to a farm.

Nugget

Named for the color of a Chicken McNugget,
The type of dog that most folks covet.
My best friend since he was a pup,
Together he and I both grew up.

Kimba

Like the cartoon little white lion,
Not too bright but worked hard tryin'.
Loved to run and play out doors,
Faithful friend of mine and yours.

Zachery

Liked to walk and lived to play,
Never balked or ran away.
Warm and friendly were his best traits,
Now he guards the pearly gates.

Cookie

Creamy color, faithful friend,
Warm, sweet nature to the end.
Mom Mom and Henry's loving pet,
One their sure not to forget.

Tiffany

Little princess to you know who,
Cocker Spaniel through and through,
Tracey's savior in hard times,
Always loved her curtain time.

Mack

Beloved pup and devoted friend,
Held chin up until the end.
Loved life full and truly cared,
Died too young, it wasn't fair.

Pets are difficult to lose,
We give our hearts to those we choose.
They're like our children, daughters and sons,
So honor them when their time comes.

RIP.



Copyright © August 2010
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
081810

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

The Last Judgement




This poem is a tribute to The Beatles White Album and was written on 9/9/2009. It's an acrostic. Try to guess what the acrostic is...

So the four angels were released,
Who were prepared for this hour,
Day, month and year to kill,
A third of man thus empowered. (Revelation 9:15)

There rose a dark angel from the abyss,
A fallen star from a fiery mist.
He was given the key to the pit,
A prophesy soon rose out of it.

Revolution.

Number Nine, Number Nine, Number Nine...

Back in the days of Kings and Czars,
Dearly beloved, most prudently proud.
Glasses be raised both near and far,
Oh for the love of an LA crowd.
Wilderness hones each fragile magpie,
Tears both stain and broken hearts still.
Withered remains of guitars that fly,
Help heal souls and hopes fulfill.

Marvelous martyrs meander near,
Idiosyncrasies wasting away.
Blips on screens, fouls that fear,
Pestilent parasites caught in the fray.
Rock the child, recline the weary,
Do not allow them to slither away.
Why should a child's future be cheery,
If only the poor are willing to pay.
Judge yourself on Judgement Day.


Born to die, the birthday lament,
Years gone by one can never get back.
Mother must I forever repent?
Every one's destined to fade to black.
Seven seals sent seven Angels,
Hell turned shelter then to stone,
Lambs and Lions lives are fragile,

Rest assured they'll atone.
Hades harbors hazy winters,
Sinners suffer sweltered nights.
Champions are never made from winners,
Resolution resolves fights.
God is good and always right.

Number Nine, Number Nine, Number Nine...

It's Judgement Time.



Copyright © August 2010
Kevin Mooney
kmm001
090909

Saturday, August 7, 2010

Welcome to the Freak Show


The bearded woman smiled at me,
Then took my last fifty cents.
I took a breath,
Scared to death,
By the aura of the tents.

 

As I entered cautiously,
My skin began to crawl.
The air was thick,
And I felt sick,
I heard a man then call.

 

"Welcome to the Freak Show",
Was what he said to me.
It seemed like hell,
Though I could tell,
Fake from reality.

 

"These things you are about to see,
Are going to blow your mind.
"Nature's freaks,
Forsaken geeks,
The weirdest sights you'll find."

 

Down an endless corridor,
Were rooms set on display.
I almost balked,
Then slowly walked,
Toward the first lit bay.

 

Inside there sat one lone man,
As normal as me and you.
Then I saw,
To my awe,
Three legs instead of two.

 

In the next opening,
Waving claw shaped hands,
I could see,
The deformity.
They called The Lobster Man.

 

Then I heard a high shrill squeal,
Coming from next door.
My body froze,
When I saw the nose,
Of the Pig-Girl on the floor.

 

As I moved on I could hear,
A woman laughing at me.
Then I was aware,
Of a rocking chair,
With a lady both huge and scary.

 

In the next stall I then saw,
A man that had two heads.
Both heads turned,
And murmured two words,
"Go Back" was all they said.

 

I looked back from where I came,
And nothing looked the same.
Each opening,
That I had seen,
Was now a closed dark frame.

 

Looking forward down the corridor,
I saw a twinkling light.
Despite my fear,
It seemed near,
So I continued to see the sights.

 

In the next room I could see,
A man dressed all in white.
Protruding from him,
Was his dead twin,
His body, no head in sight.

 

Next a young boy covered in hair,
His body completely engulfed.
His sign shared,
Please beware,
Of the world's only Human Wolf.

 

Then I saw the scariest of all,
Horribly deformed and bent.
The crippled body,
The mangled oddity,
The man they called Elephant.

 

He motioned toward the entrance,
Tried to point me there.
I misunderstood,
And solemnly stood.
It seemed all I could do was stare.

 

I'd seen twenty or more horrors,
Was overcome with sadness.
How could fools,
Be so cruel.
What justified this madness?

 

Then I saw the twinkling light,
Coming from the final stall.
As I arrived,
I realized,
It was no light at all.

 

Instead there stood a mirror,
About 3 and a half feet tall.
I was aghast,
When at last,
The reflection I then saw.

 

I could see my whole body,
My face was white and pale.
Behind me,
There seemed to be,
A long and dangling tail.

 

The sign in front of the last stall read,
"This is the final exhibit.
Please enjoy,
The Monkey Boy",
There was no door or exit.




Copyright © August 2010
Kevin Mooney

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