I had a father,
he was a kind man.
I'm not the kind of man
he was.

I try hard,
sometimes I fail.
I still look for him
in the mirror.

He fought two wars;
didn't make him strong.
He did that on his own;
he fought his own wars.

Looking back
now that he's gone,
I have to stop and wonder
what was in the water.

My old man
was the kind of man
that someday I hope to see
in the mirror.

r ~ 6/14/14

When I wake up.
In the early songs of birds
And the rest of the world.
I fight for the release of my body.
From the warmth and sanctity of my bed.

It would be so much easier.
To stay there.
Dealing with dreams and light.
But I move. And I step out of my post-nocturne cocoon.
Shedding my nightly shell,
To take the form of a sac of air and water, with a few bones holding me together.

Joints bending, stretching follows suit after refocused eyes.
I hold my breath, counting the seconds, the hours, the day.
Hobbling through each measurement on my brittle bones.
Hoping on the times when I can lay back down and rest.

Repeat.

This pain gnaws at my frail spirit.
Waiting for the final breath to escape.
But in one final effort, my mind takes shape.
Pushing against the confines of routine.
The measurements split.
My dreams unfurl.
And I step out of sleep.

Wings outstretched.

My uncle.
Who I love.
Is a peculiar man.
He once told me of the oddest conspiracy.
He said that the reason major governments of the earth don't fight each other constantly, is because the already do.
In space.

Each country has a ship.
Armed and maned to the teeth.
And they just shoot at each other.
Everyday.
And that's how all of the big national disputes were settled.
Star Trek style.

So when I heard this, I tossed my thoughts into the atmosphere.
Letting them swirl and shine among the satellites.
What did they do, up there?
Sitting in their spaceships.
Thinking of each other.
Wondering why they all were stuck in tin can time bombs.
Surrounded by the icy void.
Waiting for their ships to be shot out of the sky.
The debris to fall through children's dreams and shooting stars.
Spitting sparks like ancient dragons.

And these people wait for that.
Hidden from sight and mind.
Only just to shoot at each other.
Over a border, a mans wish, or a loaf of bread.