I sit here,
Nearly at the end of my wit's,
Don McLean is chattering on about how the quartet practiced in the park,
The sauce is 35 minutes from being complete,
A journey that started 5 hours and 25 minutes ago.
All because I wanted to try a recipe,
But I'd be lying if my taste buds didn't enjoy it.
Cooking is exhausting

Actually got some sleep,
Surprise surprise to all,
The thunderstorm raged throughout the night,
The clap accompanying the flash so loud it would awake others,
But it I find relaxing,

I awoke to it being dark outside,
Which I found odd, considering when I awoke dawn had passed an hour ago.
The clouds so dark that it would cancel the sunlight.

When I was a child my parents took our family to Florida,
To see for the first time ocean and sand.
One day it was to storm in the afternoon,
The front coming in from the gulf,
So right after lunch we went to the beach,
To watch the storm come in.

Clouds of ashen gray and inky black,
Towering miles high,
All you could see was this wall of nature's wrath, stretching as far as you could see north and south.

I had been awestruck by the power of the world's forces,
Of the way the proverbial slate could be wiped clean,
But for now I'll just sit here and smoke,
Watching the early morning rain.

It's 9:38 P.M.
It's going to be another night for the profound,
I'm in that same darkened room,
Same kitchen light,
Cigarette smoke not quite filling the room yet.
But it shall soon, because I can already tell it's going to be one of those nights.

The sandman apparently forgot to visit, for my eyes are still fresh and new.
Getty Lee is jumping from the speakers,
The anthem is long and blue.
He's telling me about the protagonist of the story,
He had just discovered a relic of the past,
It's potential for destruction could not be more true.
Of how he takes his own life,
To hide away the weapon he had stumbled upon,
To ensure its location could never be pried from his mind.

I think of old buddies from the Army,
The shenanigans we'd get into,
Of times both bad and good.
It's when I do this that I really smoke cigarettes,
Or use chew, that was a bad habit from the Army, but I'm quitting that.

Neil Peart is thundering out a solo that imprints onto the inside of my skull.
I let the waves of sound wash over me.

I sit here in the darkened dining room,
A small light shining in from the kitchen,
Just enough to silhouette the curtain of cigarette smoke that hung about the room,
I've been sitting here,
Smoking all the while,
Listen to Robert Plant croon,
About a woman he loves with all his heart,
But against his wishes,
He has to bid her adieu.

I sit here, smoking, in this warm and comfortable room,
All else is quiet,
Everyone else asleep,
Plant singing my anthem so sad and true.

But eventually the song ends,
And the record must be flipped,
So too the anthem changes,
One more upbeat and slick,
A song of change and travel,
And ever pressing on.

It is on this day,
The final day,
The last battle in the war that ended all my wars,
The final shot,
The final blast,
Full of rage, sorrow, and lore.
It is in the moments,
These final moments,
In which I'd reflect upon it all,
The joy, the sorrow, the laughter, and the tears,
In remembrance of those that had fall.
And when the cannons fell mute, & the rifles went still,
In realization it had dawn,
That when the darkness came,
We fought deaths game,
And those that claimed victory would have to go on.