The building looms in on the yellow dragon.
Children hop on the suburban band wagon.
Three holes in, one throw out.
Does anyone know what this game is about.
Some say yes, most say know.
Some asked “who cares though?”
Rolling down the slippery hall.
Make sure it doesn’t hit the wall.
Gutter clears all sewage away.
Unfortunealy I’m here to stay.
Hours passed, my fun is done.
If it was up to me I would rather run.
Into the hills far away.
I’ll decide the game I’ll play.
Clocks buzz and dawn breaks,
The child was not awake.
The child picked him up and took him far,
Down the street and into the car.
It drove down a meaty hill,
It did not have much time to kill.
Boards retrieved and no one forgotten,
Luckily the weather was not rotten.
A beach destination appeared in sight,
The sun was quite bright.
Children went in and boarded in the waves,
A wonderful start to a new day.
Cold and ice conquered the fun,
A surfing day had come undone.
Flying, the sphere sails across the sky.
It looks like a bird, majestic always on the lookout for prey.
Falling now, it hits the ground caught up in the trap of man.
Men do battle for it.
They hit in clash all for this one bird.
The battle is settled only when the bird flies away.
Like all living creatures it wishes to be free.
Not the plaything of humans who would go to war.
The bird does not even know what war is.
All it knows is when it is free and when it is a slave.
Writing, an intellectual endeavor.
Like all great things it takes time.
The clock spins however.
Sun rise, moon falls.
The writer writes, perhaps in vain.
As it is the writer did not do
what needed to be done.
Goofing off and a poor work ethic serves no use.
Senior editor and chief sorry I am late.
I want to trek across the country.
Explore every nook and cranny America has to offer.
North to south east to west.
I want to see great mountains.
I want to see vast expanses of plains.
I want to see the good and the bad.
I want to see the farmer toiling endlessly for his crop.
I want to see the child growing up in compton who is destined to be a great artist.
America has so much to offer
And only a trek would do it justice.
The rabbit is stuck.
Stuck inside its hole.
Lifted up and turned around.
The occasion would make Peter proud.
Unlike him the rabbits death will not be sacred.
No crowds will shout for him.
No men will pray for him.
No countries will war for him.
His life ends inside a predators jaws.
A snap is all that he requires.
The deed is done.
There is no justice for the life of the rabbit.
A hill awaits on the mountain top.
The sun beats strongly upon it.
However the rays will not last long.
Instead clouds appear from above destroying all life.
The wind was fierce, the trees shook.
Slowly day turned to night, the weather became as sharp as icicles.
The animals froze.
The leaves fell down.
The only good thing was the amount of Justice.
Hope.
Dreams.
Plays a tune that sends me to a new world.
It gives me freedom from my life.
It is Justice.
The hill, what is it.
It’s a large ferocious creature composed of leaves and long rotted metal.
People must descend upon it.
All in order to retrieve what was lost.
What was lost?
Justice!
The trek for the items came to an end.
When all of the items were found.
The ascent was more dangerous and fearsome.
The journey was finally finished the pain had barely begun.
The country evil and stupid.
What are demands but a plea for attention.
Kublai Kahn would be happy at the state of his country.
It seem his fathers long held dominion is starving.
Why do they fill the need to ask for such pitiful assistance.
No friends no allies they have ran out of options.
Now they crave attention as well as food.
Its not a paradox but rather a simple solution.
Behave cordially and your country will be around for centuries.
You have not, as a result your country crumbles from the inside.
You yourself attempt to hold on to your pathetic power.
OVS Journalism Blog 
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