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The Daily Kingdom

 

To them, I stock papers.

To me, I provide news.

What is their library

is my gift to the people.

 

To them, I just stand & serve.

To me, I run, I labour, I negotiate…

What is their library

is what I manage and provide.

 

To them, I know nothing.

To me, I know what and when.

What is their library

is really mine.

 

My knowledge, my wealth.

My riches, my spoils.

My pride, my frustration.

My trenches, my throne.

 

To them…it’s just a shop.

Just a convenience.

Utterly mundane.

 

To me…they’re right.

It’s not glamorous.

But it is mine.

 

By D.C. Wood (26.03.2013)

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Pain of Art

Picking up a brush with one rogue bristle,

Is enough to ruin a whole labourer’s work.

Constantly upset by the stress whistle,

Enraged by the onlooker’s mocking smirk;

The mind insists that where projects lurk.

No clay warrior’s armour should crack!

Mona Lisa does not look like a jerk!

The innocent canvas receives a smack

As the tormented brush splatters the attack.

Feelings are expressed, emotions evoked.

These elitists have clearly got the knack.

Unlike those sadly, whose dreams are revoked

By the crushing realisation of no-talent,

Or the misfortune that makes one lament.

 

By D.C. Wood (19.03.2013)

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Whizz! Bang! Ooooh, Pretty!

 

Up goes the rocket into the night!

Sparking! Whistling! Cor, what a sight!

Vanishing into the stars! Look, there it goes!

Before exploding into a thousand rainbows!

 

One firework, two firework, three firework more!

Explosions! Colours! Shapes & sizes galore!

That one looks like an animal! That one looks like a face!.

Yet all exploding fireworks make the night ace!

 

By D.C. Wood (11.03.2013)

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