Saturday sidewalks are filled by the youthful,
the boys with young muscles and hard heads,
the girls with soft skin under short skirts.
They wander sidewalks in search of escape.
Each of them dance with lust,
drink hard,
and inject madness
into their veins.

On Sunday mornings,
after the splendor of uninhibited release,
the young weep in regret of poor choices,
their air saturated in reality.

Sidewalks then belong to the wise
who wake from a good rest.
These men and women drink roasted coffee,
reflect on a transcendent spirituality,
read great poetry,
and meet friends to discuss
the roots of democracy.

Every year, the unchanging concrete slabs
of sidewalks appear slightly different.
They reflect our perspectives.
Sidewalks that once led to freedom,
now lead to enlightenment.
In future years,
these same sidewalks
will lead to rest.

You were born,
as was I.
You are dying,
as am I.
What happens
in between matters.
Too many spend
their time as
they spend
their money,
straining for more
than food, clothes,
shelter until
they suffocate
under attachment
to the unnecessary
they have made
necessary.
They try to buy
meaning with toys
and feel uncomfortable
at the boredom
they have become.
They want the whole
world zoned commercial
so they can work harder,
buy more and feel better,
but they don't.
It is a hard thing
to admit how much
of our lives
we have spent
being full of ****.
Remember:
You were born,
as was I.
You are dying,
as am I.
What happens
in between matters.
We all stand on
wobbly hinges
that can give way
at any moment.
The question becomes
not about death
but about how to live
before the hinges snap
and the noose
breaks our mortal necks.
No easy answers.
It is hard enough
to have your foot
in one world,
let alone two.
You were born,
as was I.
You are dying,
as am I.
What happens
in between matters.
Instead, meditate
on the nothingness
that was and
the nothingness
that will be
at any second.
Do not **** your life
away on nonsense.
Find your way to make
what is in between
matter. Me?
I think I'll go fishing.

  ~mce

Where everyone
is damaged goods,
there are
no damaged goods.

  ~mce

C an i even attempt to be
A miable to your lover? Or is the
S ensitivity of my ego beginning to
S eparate my link to you, should I
A ssume that you have
N o love to spare for me?And
D oes he meet you demand of your
R outinely constant love or am i too ****
A rrogant to see you have no need for me?