A MYSTERY

Something not discovered, a story that grows,

That which can not be figured out, a mystery.

Who did it, or how did it happen is a question,

Responsibility for a disappearance or crime.

Aliens are around us constantly, keep searching,

A mystery it is about Jack the Ripper, who was Jack?

Things exaggerated from the human mind, folklore,

A mystery grows with time, a mystery created with time.

Keith Garrett

A PAGE MISSING

A life I find not finished yet quite incomplete,

There’s a page missing, something not found,

Writing about my time, a piece not described.

Talks with children unsettled, much more be said,

Differences between a father and daughter are unsaid.

A shock to my head, an accident did take from me,

A page missing, what for me is still unwritten.

Keith Garrett

EACH DAY, A GIFT

Awake In the morning to the rising sun,

To bed at night like a promise that It’s forever.

All things’ that we do or see or expect each day,

Are a temporary experience In this world to be.

Imagine one day no more will we exist,

Life down here will continue, by some, we shall be missed.

Our spirits’ will move on to some other plane,

Take comfort knowing that we’ll be joined by loved’ ones

On another new day.

Each day, a gift handed down to us from above,

Never knowing how many till we awake no more.

Keith Garrett

HE HAD EVERYTHING

He had everything, he could not see what he had,

More money than a man could spend forever,

His sins would cost him plenty, no money could fix.

Hurting his wife and daughter, broken hearts were theirs,

Through his deceit and crimes, a lesson might be learned,

He did not learn as it was money and blackmail that prevailed.

He escaped his dirty deeds as false faces were worn with greed,

He still had everything but in the end a man and family had nothing.

Keith Garrett

I WAS SO YOUNG AND SO WERE YOU

A child, running and playing, you were seven in nineteen thirty nine,

A different world, another time, a boy with a father and mother,

Your family of brothers and sisters, you were so young, full of life.

Before we met you made your way throughout this big world,

In nineteen sixty nine, I was seven, I was so young and so were you,

A life ahead of me was to be as I like you would run and play each day.

It’s kind of funny, you were thirty when I was just born, a young man,

I was just starting out, someday I would grow to be like you, this was to be,

I became a little older than you at fifty three, forty six years apart now for you and me.

Keith Garrett

FROM WHERE I SIT

Ahead in front of me, I gaze at a sight,

Of a world of wonders, not always fright.

I see the good that has been upon us blessed,

May be taken for granted by all at one time.

Seeing at times like a soul with no eyes,

Listen again with my ears, to hear what’s around.

Opening my mind to now focus on what’s to see,

Much love around me there is to be.

To understand all that’s been good,

And put away in the distance any bad as I should.

Things that are from where I sit.

Keith Garrett

DEEP FOREST

Step into reality, an exotic and spectacular place of dreams,

Realize this world of adventure and things not to often seen.

Somewhat dark with a hint of light beaming through the trees,

Sounds all around as the creatures of this land watch in the shadows.

There’s a misty haze that appears as the night shows its face,

So far away from the not so peaceful, deep forest of that which breathes.

Leaves upon the ground, walking among life that speaks not a word we hear,

With these feet, we make our way from a magical getaway of existence.

This forest, a beautiful, deep, forest hiding from the outside,

Lost in it may be the heaven, the happiness, a garden of Eden.

Keith Garrett

BILLY THE KID

A story to tell as on the eve of the civil war it would come to be a birth.

An Irish neighborhood in New York City, November twenty third eighteen fifty-nine.

William Henry McCarty JR. later known as the infamous outlaw Billy the kid.

A mother known as Katherine, a father unknown, a little boy would never know.

William H. Bonney would one day join the Lincoln County war, life would become short.

Legend tells that he killed twenty one men, later a folk hero is told.

Five foot nine he stood, blue eyes, smooth complexion, sometimes a friendly sort.

Some say he was a neat dresser, liked to sport his Mexican sombrero.

Billy was skilled with firearms, a cowboy, gambler, cattle rustler, he was an outlaw.

Sheriff Pat Garrett would come to hunt him down, Billy was only a kid, what waited for him.

He was cornered, shot, and killed by a man, a lawman July fourteenth eighteen eighty one.

He was only twenty one when his life ended, a young man dies back in a time at Fort Sumner

New, Mexico, Pat shot him down, He was an outlaw but he was once a mother’s son.

Rest in peace Billy the kid.

Keith Garrett

FLESH AND BLOOD

A friend, a doctor, to them a healer of anything,

For granted they take this human being of care.

He is not god, not a miracle worker they should know,

Flesh and blood, no magical powers does he possess.

He could not save a life fore he is a mortal man,

How could they expect more from him, he didn’t understand,

Flesh and blood, they found out he was merely flesh and blood.

Keith Garrett

“FENCES”

God created heaven and earth so that we could live together,

I was thinking as I walked down the street, I looked at a fence,

Touching it with my hands I realized a man would have to climb,

To get to the other side he would have to go beyond where was legal.

This is my space! you can’t come near it, since the beginning of time,

The world was meant to share, be free to roam, we started building fences.

Around our land, fences to keep others out and mark our territory,

It’s all been broken up into pieces, always a fight that leads to war.

How can any one man or nation own a piece of the sky, stay away they say,

Beyond the sky, do we all have a right to it or is it claimed by the powerful?

Stay away from here! this is my ocean, be warned or we go to war, do you hear.?

No drink of water for you, someone else owns this lake, river, or stream,

Dirt is not free anymore, there’s a price to be paid, money to be made.

Be careful as soon the air we breathe will not be free, who takes charge I wonder,

If we lived as one and shared the land, there would be room for every soul and man.

Keith Garrett