Little Worth by Daton L. Fluker

Little Worth


By Daton L. Fluker


What is this thing that builds and inventiveness but then diminishes away?

Pinus palustris needles bewilders in the forest.

And sadness and hate build inside the long leaf pine tree

Life is bothering the needles of the tree.

The wind blows green with darken hate.

The ground finds a place for Earth to recap itself

So does the foundation of life finding a way to weld a new Garden

God, I beg you to forgive Adam and Eve and let us venture our souls again

One moment that is very sweet to most but brutally miserable for others’

Sisters and brothers Dream in the Garden

Mothers bears fruit and the tree of life moves on butchering or fruitfully

Catch my tears with your rag

Tape my wounds and whip my ass

A thousand forever’s forgotten most are remembered but all is lost

The most valuable things are given by time

A kiss a touch and even a smell is given by time

Appetites grow uncountable

Greed penetrates kayos

Art is now captured and not canvassed

Time torture dreams but inevitably destroys us.

Nothing is Certain Not even a perennial source of water

Emulation to survive is taking away valuable time

Is this sadness are a regrettable remembrance of forever.

UNREMEMBERED by Daton L. Fluker



Written by Daton L. Fluker

Corruption has grazed over the land.
The wind puffs cold devils rain
The dream of coziness falls in its hardships of lies.
Greed becomes a summon for life.
Tired as we must be, these dreams will be advanced by pain.
Blood is extracted from my finger tips leaving bacteria to eat away at my nervous system.
My heart becomes darker; my thoughts become frequent with annihilation. 
Candy covered cough drops soaking in a bag of sadness with no pictures on the wall
The life took them away; the light gave them a home, 
The hands of God gave them hope and gave them Death.
Lullabies lost by wrapping their magnificent sound around the first, second, and third layers of our ears.
However, this never soaks into our mind but only our ears.
The oven is hot baking a batch of regretful meatloaf.
They touch, they sleep, they drink, they play, and they go away.
The first president is the first modern American.
The first car is the first modern accident.
Who will stop these pernicious crimes?
Even so, better yet, who will stop time?

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