Why?Why?Why do apples fall from trees?Why when we fall, we always skin our knees?Why do you smile the brightest, when the sun refuses to shine?Why do you hold my heart so tight and let me call you mine?Why can't we get rainbows at night?Why do mean people always believe, that they are right?Why do our eyes not always see?Why does honey come from bees?
Bear Jake and RockyThe soft sounds of snoring bounce off the living room walls, though they were not very loud they seem to hide the sounds of padded footsteps across the wooden floors every once in a while the footsteps stop when the snores became soft whimpering woofs as the sleeping giant called Bear slept under the cover of the old pine coffee table his refuge from the much younger members of his family, also known as Jake the terrible and Rickety Rocky. Jake brown eyes stared hard at his prey the big lug of a dog called Bear, Bear wasn't doing anything but sleep then again all Bear did do was sleep. The old dog slept on as he woofs out a warning in his sleep knowing from daily attacks that one of the younger dogs would most likely be lurking about. True to his nature Jake the younger pup though he was now closely to Bear in height though not in size. Was snickering as he reaches the edge of the old rug, crouching down on his belly, Jake slowly crawls towards the massive brown furry beast s
where have you gone?where have you gone?now your a memory, once you were a songwe use to talk long into the daythen you turn your back and just walk awaywhere have you gone?what did I do? was it so very wrong?we use to know when each other was downnow our lips are forever stich into a frownwhere have you gone?it's been so, so, so very longmy heart it breakswhen was it last we did speak?where have you gone?this pain is so huge like it's King KongI miss you and I wish I knewdo you really miss me too?
The Old Neighbourhoodthe sounds of the old rusty porch swing, groaning outsends a chills down the sidewalk spines, of the old neighbourhooddarken abandon houses, with broken tooth windows grinsare standing guard, holding the night at bayas bony twisted trees fingers rake the black skiessoon a small wind blows in, racing down the street sending porch swings a swaying their creaking and groaning, like ghosts when their moaningwhile over head an old barn owl criesdeath lingers near, but its now a place without fearfor by now everyone has diedlaying down dead beneath the even skies