"The Collection" - (1994)
david j. sperling BIO
speaking info


Do the right thing.

Be fair.

Feel the sting.

Return the glare.


A cut above.

Special treatment.

No privileges.

Just exemptions.


Scratching their backs.

Waiting for blood.

Pecking their wounds.

Ignoring the flood.


Not so perfect.

As they watch.


A simple man.

One who cares.

Tests their spirit.

Accepts their dares.


Speaking truth.

Hearing snickers.

Engines roar.

Flames flicker.


In some way.

Some shape.

Some form.

The day comes.

With punishment born.


Much like the sun.

It boldly shines

And gives life--To everyone.


- January 1994 -




T H E   P U R P O S E


Twisted feet.

Crossed eyes.

Irregular beat.

Twisted cries.


A throw-away.


Saved from a dumpster tomb, I knew nothing.

Fresh from the womb.


Black and white.

I was wrong.

They were right, but not for long.

Not so smart, and not so kind, I saw the ruckus. 

In every mind.

The hiding, lying, and killing…  

They march uphill.     

Toward the grind.


Buckled tight, I enter the game.

I wear a number, not a name.


Clarity waxes.

And wanes.

I meet new pleasure.

And pain.


Pop quizzes, exams, and tests.

Patience is a lesson.

There is no rest.


These paltry evaluations pale next to mine.

I stare in the mirror, and do my time.


Bold invisible love.

Against the world.

An eternal war, with no score.


My invitation to fight, which I accept.

Brings me to light, with no regret.


     - March 1994 -




Five minutes ‘til ‘toons


My childish legs shivered.

By choice.

For they are no longer trapped.

By the covers.

Tattered underwear is the morning’s dress.

As it is for all 8 year-olds.

On early Saturday mornings.

Screaming jets.

Shot across the screen.

Bringing me to my feet.

Along with the anthem.

Clutching my chest.

I watched.

                    Like I did a hundred times.

It still felt like my first.


I listened to the roar of the planes.

The flapping of the flag.

The sounds of freedom.


     - May 1994 -





Will those curtains match your wallpaper…

on your deathbed?


What about those damn birds, will they be too loud…

on your deathbed?


Those cobwebs in the kitchen corner, will they matter…

on your deathbed?


Will those jam-packed closets irritate you…

on your deathbed?


That old man you ignored, will you think of him…

on your deathbed?


All that money, will it do you any good…

on your deathbed?


Will you know where your future lies…

on your deathbed?


               -June 1994-


Email: djs@furiouslove.com
Created & Copyrighted by David J. Sperling