I found you between the covers
Laid bare before me,
A beginning a middle and an end
All there for me to discover,
On white sheets, in among the small print
Along with accompanying photographs
A catalogue if you will
In chronological order, unchangeable
As this is now a past event.

But these aren’t your words
There are quotes I’ll give you that,
But not an autobiography, this truth
Belongs to someone else’s twisted opinion
Through research and interviews with also
Rans, so where are you really, not here
Not raw emotion, frustration, devotion
No one saw inside your head, plucked
Your thoughts and put it down on paper.

Floating upon the waters
has been natural for me
on my wavy journey of faith
yet for most of my life I have been moored
to one or another church or spiritual dwelling
and there in the six directions
of the medicine wheel
or in mindful silence and meditation
I found solace and inspiration
and challenges to be a better man.

Born into the Roman church
from a mother whose tie to sanity
was her rosary
each bead a knot
and the chain her bond to the holy.

Novenas, prayers, litanies, and creeds
became the native tongue
taught when we were young
mysteries and sensory symphonies
of the rituals filled us to the brim
spilling dreams and designs
for a special future
ending in the Great Upthere.

But a destiny of storms
awaited me on my journey there
as I fled into a barren night
a zeal and appeal of career my light.

Now in the lateness of life
I am again moored in a church
in love with several humble followers
of Jesus the Christ there
songs and Word and wisdom fill the air.
And back home I have my own medicine woman of a wife
a five decade anchor of faith
a vessel and fiery heart full of love.

So here I am no longer floating
or boating from one port to another
my friends are dying and growing old
my body battered and heart weary
but I am alive, again brimming and often teary
for God has taken hold of me
Jesus who hounded me has tackled this old fool
and the Spirit has chiseled and shaped a jewel
tenderized my heart with his reckless love,
his overwhelming endless push and pull
and with his merciful Light has re-created and made me full.

I'm a poor psych student majoring in emotions- lots of them- and awkward missed opportunities.

I guess you could say I'm unstable and in need of a massive outlet

Or I just need to grow up...

Swiftly,
I soared with
Tarzan level
agility.

Up in the air
only a couple of
feet,
barefoot flying
in my grandparents
garage
out in
a town so small
it should just be called
country.

A leap
imagining I am
flying fiercely,
daydreaming
then landing.

A piercing
pain pressing
through
the first foot
I landed on.

I looked down
shocked to see
a pointed top
of a rusted *****
staring up at me
right through
my foot
without a shoe.

Thus, the adventure
ended with
a wounded warrior
under ten
stumbling back in
to my grandparents’ house
after pulling that
pain in my foot
out.

Skinny dark and handsome,
Mucky-bright and troublesome,
Giddy, and full of fun,
Dusty foot, Desert child
Half naked, running wild.

Then, came the move
Tame the lion, city life
Schooling, for a better life.

Then horror,
with a volley and crackle
And thunder,
Tribal feud, tearing hearts asunder
Time to flee

Back of a Hilux jumping borders,
Refugees,
A childhood memory
Seen as mean by me
From foot to camel to truck to plane
Safety has been ascertained
Acclimatised and mingled into
This here foreign place.

Years have passed,
Life has changed,
Wounds have healed,
and I’m no longer mean,
I am me.

It is not as poignant
as an abused animal,

Or powerful as
a crying child,

Not as memorable
as a warzone,

Not a battlefield
of brain damage
from repeated blows,

I am not a hero
and I am to old
to be a victim
because the expiration date
was a long time ago,

So when people
talk about their trauma
I do not expose
those old wounds

Because,
no one really listened
when I told them the truth,

So I take my shovel
and I bury old scars
dig as deep as I can
until I can see
the stars
on the otherside

I miss the small town girls,
whose names I have
mostly forgotten,
the games of tag,
the make believe scenarios,
the fun we had.

I miss the star lit chats
that the adults had,
while I ran
with flint rock sparks,
and chased fireflies.

I miss the old campground,
where we would swim
in a small sandy pond,
splashing.
When the older folks
dipped in
they got bitten,
but I never felt
any fish nibbling.

These memories
have been dimming
over time,
plus distance
as I swim in
a different
world,

but I was younger then
playing with other children,
innocent.

I miss those moments.

It was a
suicidal game
of self-destruction,
as I walked slowly
on the white winter ground.

Four or more
sleep deprived nights
because of some
drug a doctor prescribed
that nearly fried
my already fragile mind.

For the first time in my life
I decided to give cigarettes a try.
Cancer be ******
because I had already been
******* condemned.
So, I smoked them.

Pushed to the edge,
I punished myself
with cold indifference
popping the last bits
of this sick prescription.

Earlier,
I asked the doctor
if I could take these
before I went to bed.
I guess he didn’t
listen to a word I said.
Was it his ignorance
or merely negligence
that nearly did me in?

On the fourth night,
I watched my best friend
collapse from his asthma
because he was
running to call the cops
to come and save me.

His efforts made me laugh,
as I indifferently considered
just finding a place to hide
while I waited to wither and die.