Bryan P. Mix

The spirit of green
Comes unusually fast
Creating a mean
Strong supporting mast

She grips tight to your soul
Without an ounce of remorse
Changing your goals
And throwing you off course

She opens your eyes
To things that arn't there
Fills you full of lies
Leaving you cold and bare

The feeling so strong
You just can't let go
Even though your wrong
And everyone knows

You have nothing to gain
But everything to lose
And still you maintain
And continue to accuse

When she is all done
There is nothing left
What you have is none
Her mission is theft.



By Bryan P. Mix

Looking through the window
There is a small child
Sitting with his pillow
He has been there for a while

He is nervous about the room
And the place where he stands
His smile turns to gloom
When he sees my large hands

Looking deeper through the pane
To see what is wrong
He's not sure he is sane
He has been there way too long

As I peer into the glass
This child starts to fade
Leaving no mass
And me standing in the shade