"Poetry & Rhymes" by William Hancock

Posts tagged “Life

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“We’re Play Things For The Wicked”

"We're Play Things For The Wicked"

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We’re play things for the wicked,

In this hell we call earth,

From the moment we’re born,

With their certificates of birth.

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We’re collateral to a debt,

In a country we call home,

Ruled by the rich,

Where nothing is owned.

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Human livestock we are,

To the wicked, just peons,

In a world so corrupt,

It’s been this way for eons.

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From monarchs and dictators,

To corporations and banksters,

Plutocrats and oligarchs,

Their all a bunch of wankers.

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There’s something to be said,

In pretending to be civilized,

Our freedom and liberty,

Leaving much to be criticized.

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We’re deceived by their media,

And politicians puking lies,

Nothing’s as it seems,

As we begin to clear our eyes.

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And now the fog has cleared,

And the darkness falls away,

We’re just play things for the wicked,

It’s always been this way.

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by
William Hancock © All Rights Reserved

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Image Used:  [ https://pixabay.com/en/frankfurt-deutsche-bank-skyline-66840/ ]

Poem on Image:  placed by; written by  William Hanacock © 2016′


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“Broken Dreams”

Broken Dreams 1

A sliver of light,

From yonder room,

Comes from a window,

I must assume.

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Specks of dust,

On beams they slide,

Singing in glee,

Of days gone by.

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In shadows corner,

Are wandering souls,

Wooden tables,

And empty bowls.

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Once was night,

Consumed by day,

Vanishing dreams,

Just broken clay.

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Disdain memories,

Like mangled ropes,

Hanging on vines,

Of nowhere’s hopes.

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Endless sunshine,

Knocks the door,

Reflects the sadness,

And so much more.

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by
William Hancock © All Rights Reserved

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[ Image used:  www.morguefile.com/archive/display/170118 ]

Poem on Image:  placed by; written by  William Hancock © 2015′


“Through The Curtain”

Through The Curtain

As he sat in his cold dark room,

Scratching his ear as he thought,

He peers through the curtain, towards the moon,

Remembering a life he had sought.

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He thinks of a time, and gets a grin,

Remembering his children as they played,

His wife,.. . as she kissed his chin,

Oh, those were such beautiful days.

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Why has God forsaken me so?

He asked of himself, in knots.

All are gone, and I am old,

And death comes for me not?

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Lingering, in his memories,

He looks towards a photograph,

Of an orchard full of apple trees,

A group of family as they laughed.

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His dreams are of a happier time,

When the sun had shined on his face,

Of friends and family, and drinking wine,

And kids running all over the place.

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Now he’s old, and all alone,

Everyone he loved has gone,

He waits for the day, he goes home,

To be again, with everyone.

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William Hancock © All Rights Reserved

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[ Image used:  www.morguefile.com/archive/display/906549 ]

Poem on Image:  placed by; written by  William Hancock © 2015′


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“Behind These Bars”

"Behind These Bars"

It’s smelly in here,
Behind these bars,
The stench of ass,
And feet of tar.
Somebody needs a bath!

Years go by,
No end in sight,
This steel bed,
I never sleep right.
Really improved my math.

Bells go off,
It’s time for count,
All in place,
Standing so stout.
Feeling our keepers wrath.

No sense anymore,
As days go by,
No longer I dream,
Nor ask myself why.
All is in the past.

No looking back,
A time no longer,
A wonderful life,
I did so squander.
Young and living fast.

I ask you now,
I pray for hell,
Anything is better,
Than in this cell.
Please God, as I ask.

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William Hancock © All Rights Reserved

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[ Image used:  www.morguefile.com/archive/display/616068 ]

Poem on Image: placed by; written by  William Hancock © 2014′


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“Not Even A Sigh”

''Not Even A Sigh''

Living in the trenches,
Where people just stare.
Life’s dangling branches,
Have all become bare.

No leaves, or fruits,
Showing for its troubles.
A trunk, some roots,
As its life crumbles.

People walking by,
All look the other way.
Not even a why,
It’s just another day.

Living in the trenches,
I see people begging.
What horrible wretches,
I hear the rich bragging.

Down deep, a hole,
I hear them all screaming.
So dark, and cold,
Wishing I were dreaming.

The tree is no more,
All decayed and withered.
Rotten to the core,
As life has wintered.

Still people walk by,
Just look the other way.
Not even a sigh,
It’s just another day.. .

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William Hancock © All Rights Reserved

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[ Image used:  www.morguefile.com/archive/display/37021 ]

Poem on Image: placed by; written by  William Hancock © 2014′


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“Super Dud!”

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Super duper,
Is his name,
What a trooper,
All the same.

Super hero,
Flying high,
Striking zero,
Every time.

Wonder dude,
Some might say,
High on ludes,
Every day.

No more worries,
He don‘t care,
Never hurries,
Eyes a glare.

No story here,
Or life to tell,
Drinking beer,
And drugs to sell.

Friends all gone,
A family lost,
A switch left on,
What a cost.

It’s all a blur,
An empty hole,
Nothing’s sure,
Except your blow.

Remember this,
You super dud,
The life you missed,
. .. … …. ….. With a Thud!

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William Hancock © All Rights Reserved

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[ Image Used:  www.morguefile.com/archive/display/176912 ]

Poem on Image:  placed by; written by  William Hancock © 2013′


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“Times Past”

Times Past

It’s colder now
Since winter’s come,
And the loss
Of our summer sun.

Nothing ever lasts.. .

The joy we had,
And all the fun,
Now all gone,
The season’s done.

A time that has past.. .

Wasn’t it great
To play and run,
Those blissful days,
And then some.

It all went by so fast.. .

I wish them back
In total sum,
To never again
Be hum drum.

Life would be a blast.. .

Now looking back,
I raise my thumb,
A wonderful time,
As I sip my rum.

There’s nothing that I lacked.. .

The memories I have
Of chewing gum,
The loves I had
Are forever won.

A time I’ll never give back.. .

Wasn’t life grand.. .?

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William Hancock © All Rights Reserved

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[ Image used:  www.bubblews.com/news/1836882-times-past ]

Poem on Image:  placed by; written by  William Hancock © 2013′


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“3:AM”

3 AM

It’s three A M,
So early now,
I feel the chill.

As morning comes,
A day begins,
It’s so surreal.

Still the light,
Seeing it there
On window sill,

Has yet moved on,
Leaving me here
To await what’s real.

Moments of truth,
Glimpses of past,
As night stands still.

Still no sleep,
Has gifted me,
This night does steal.

This emptiness,
From yesterday past,
This hole to fill.

I raise my fist,
In rage this night,
Of life’s ordeal.

I scream at you,
As morning comes,
And night is still.

It’s three A M,
And still I moan,
With things I feel.

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William Hancock © All Rights Reserved
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[ Image used:  www.morguefile.com/archive/display/634092 ]

Poem on Image:  placed by; written by  William Hancock © 2013′


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“Only Borrowed”

Only Borrowed

Time is so distant,
Not in the future, but now.
You cry for this instance,
But why, you know not how.

It’s sad your whimpering,
Your crying, so much deferent.
For me, life is movement,
A door to an entrance.

A beginning of a sort,
Something you can’t clue.
When our time comes,
And it will, just don‘t be blue.

We write, we sing,
We live like no tomorrow.
But we lost life’s meaning,
Our time only borrowed.

Whispering our songs,
In sounds never heard.
Sweet melody we hear,
Like the song of a bird.

The Lord, he awaits,
To hold us in his arms.
Behind heaven’s gates,
And all it’s charms.

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William Hancock © All Rights Reserved

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“When I Was A Little Boy”

When I Was A Little Boy

When I was a little boy,
I couldn’t wait to be grown up.
No one telling me what to do,
And I could drive a real truck.

I wish that I was young again,
Now that I’ve grown older.
When I still believed in fairy tails,
Before life got so much colder.

No one ever prepares us,
For what truly lies ahead.
When those you love are gone,
And your all that’s left instead.

We spin, and we weave,
Like tomorrow will never come.
Never truly are we ready,
Not till all is said and done.

Our memories are all we have,
And photographs of the past.
The happy times, and the sad ones,
Finally realizing nothing lasts.

Yes, when I was a little boy,
I couldn’t wait to be grown up.
And living as a young man,
How could I have had such luck?

And now that I’m older,
I miss my little truck.. .

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William Hancock © All Rights Reserved

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[ Image used:  www.morguefile.com/archive/display/685430 ]

Poem on Image:  placed by; written by  William Hancock © 2013′