When we talked today,
You called me a bear,
Some hulking beast that could scare away the dangers of the world,
But behind your eyes I could see what you wanted to also say,
That I would also try and scare away the rest of the world at large,
To lumber through the forest alone,
So that I could not be hurt by anything ever again.

I saw that hurt in your eyes,
That while as this great beast I would fight and die for those I love,
My isolation would always make this number always too small.

I see you too though,
For if I am a bear, you are a hawk,
Flying in the sky so far above.

Your ability to see so much so clearly with but a glance nearly scares me,
But your cries are welcome all the same,
Giving warning of the dangers that I cannot see,
I rely on your honest calls to keep from wandering through these woods belligerently,
Giving me a cooler perspective,
Calming the storms in my heart and in my head.

But little hawk,
Do you not isolate yourself too?
Where my self-imposed exile is in the trees and mountains,
Is yours not in the sky and clouds?
Your high perch gives you sight for miles,
But none can reach you there.

I know you don't mean to,
And perhaps I read too much into this metaphor,
But my offer will forever stand,
Remember to swoop down and visit this simple bear every once and a while,
And I will endeavor to join you in the blue skies whenever I can.

The Södenberg sisters sing to me tonight,
Their words sending me far from this slightly cold balcony,
To a realm of asphalt and dusty wind.

For my first 10 years there were no roads,
But a plethora of paths,
Criss crossing,
Winding to and fro,
Foot beaten little things in a great forest,
Filled with trees, creeks, waterfalls, and animals,
Birds singing beautiful songs as they sail through the trees,
Squirrels chattering from their perches amongst the great branches,
Whitetails observing my progress of the child .

As a young boy I'd sprint down these paths,
Unheeding of the odd roots that were placed along the paths,
So happy to just be moving forward,
To see what played around the next bend.

The next 10 years were simple things,
A two lane town road,
Buildings of my hometown on lined either side,
Their facades as they were,
Before the place of my forefathers got too big too fast,
Where all it's citizens knew my parents,
And by extention, me,
The birds and squirrels still there,
Although their number greatly diminished.

My pace was greatly diminished,
No longer some great sprint,
But a gentle jog,
Taking in the familiar sites,
But excited to leave this place,
Impatient for a change of scenery and anticipating some great adventure.

The next 3 were a treacherous yet exciting road,
A winding mountain pass,
Steep sloaped and lined with switchbacks,
Giving beautiful mountain vista views,
But with this new road also came the realization,
That the road could be a dangerous thing,
One slip could give way to a great fall,
The once gentle jog gave way to a cautious walk,
Wary of foot placement and step,
No birds here,
No squirrels,
But instead of the rumble of far off thunder,
And the howling of distant wolves.

Then came the next four,
The thunder no longer far off,
The wolf howls no longer distant,
The asphalt cracked and split,
Closed in on both sides by a thick and menacing wood,
And through the darkness of the nearly moonless night the darting shapes of beasts could be seen.

Rain slashing down,
Galing winds battering me,
My body worn down,
My walk but a limp,
Taking my broken self forward,
One dragging step after another,
A constant struggle to find the energy to make it one step further,
To find reason to keep going.

But like some great magic trick the wooding cleared,
The rain stopped,
And the wolves pulled back.

It was here that I found you next to me.

This new road is a bit cracked,
A bit disused,
The desert beautiful with Mesas to either side,
My pace quickened,
No longer a slogging trudging thing,
But also not a run,
A relaxing stride that feels good and steady,
Churning onward to the mountains in the distance.

I look to you and you smile,
You smile back,
And it is here that I see hawks up above,
A fox to the far right,
Observing these travelers passing through it's lands.

No longer an unlined face,
Bearded and festooned with a smattering of scars,
Earned through foolish fights and terrible tumbles,
But gladly won and worn all the same,
Sun kissed skin taking in the pleasant warm arid air.

I know not where this road leads,
But the excitement returns once more,
And that I no longer need to travel it alone,
That traveling is never meant to be done all on one's own,
That it's the company that makes the trip worth it.

With that the duo's song ends,
And I am transported back to this balcony,
The air still clung to with the slipping grasp of winter's last vestiges,
And it's begrudging release so close at hand,
Bring forward new beginnings,
And new roads to be traversed.

Oh Gygax,
If you could see what you've made,
What it's become,
To those you've touched,
With simple dice, paper, and pen,
You'd see a community you've helped,
A people inspired,
Of joys you bring everyday.

You introduce to some a world of creativeness,
Of fantasy and dragon slaying,
To others you've helped provide a creative outlet,
Something they thought they'd never have again.

You've helped people make friends,
Some lifelong,
Connecting them in various ways,
But through it all,
It will have all started,
With a 20 sided dice,
And a simple question;
"Would you like to play?"

You've helped some through some rather dark and rough patches,
A form of escapism that can't compare,
To others you've provided a fun weekly activity,
To decompress from the toils of the day-to-day.

From the starry eyes of our most youthful,
To the slightly hazy eyes of old,
Entertainment you've brought to us,
From your average joes,
To famous folk,
The touch of your creation enraptures all that it beholds.

My friends and I gather again,
On this Friday night,
To fight zombie hoards, Kobold warlords,
Even a Black pudding or two,
And for a little while,
In those fleeting instants,
They're great hero's of Valara and Altour.

So thank you Gygax,
for all you've done,
as we sit down at this table,
from the noble adventuring group known as the Assless Chaps,
(Exasperated Sigh)
And their beleaguered Dungeon Master.

Home is where the heart is,
They say,
But to me that is just not true,
Home is where the spirit lies quiet,
Sitting contently in a gentle stupor.

I pack my bags,
To travel south,
To visit where my soul will lie quiet and still,
Where the people are full of life and the land is quiet,
Nestled in Appalachian mountains and hills.

It is a land that borders near-untained wilderness,
An hours drive from anywhere truly uprooted by man,
Where the morning's sun is greeted by smoke-like pillars,
That billow up from the mountains ascents.

It is a land of shine and fiddles,
Of guitars, trucks and barns.
Where your neighbor is your cousin,
His neighbor is their brother,
And his neighbor is his Ma and Pa.

It's a land of quiet reflection,
Far removed from the roar of highways and cities,
Where if the world were to end,
It would take weeks to know,
And would be bo real loss in the end.

The people are hard,
But gentle at the same time,
Always willing to give a helping hand,
They have tales to tell if you've got the time,
I recommend bending your ear and listen.

It's mountains are steep and treacherous,
Infested with snakes, ticks, and venomous spiders galore,
But watch your step, make the ascent,
And it's views are worth the trouble.

The food there is genuine,
Made with love and care,
Whilst simple it makes its taste so much more true,
If you aren't careful you'll gain 30 pounds,
On this hearty holler food.

And the sky,
Oh the sky,
May be my favorite part of all,
The bluest blues,
The whitest whites,
It's sunsets a tear inducing menagerie of reds purples, pinks, yellows, and golden hues.

As the last bag is packed, and my car is gassed,
I ache for my spirits home already,
For it is someplace I can never visit often enough,
A place where I am most lackadaisical and happy.

For in the hollers loving embrace I am sheltered from the pollution and dread of man,
Where for but a fleeting moment,
Frozen in time,
I can feel like a kid again.

Kassie Valazza is my partner here tonight,
Softly crooning to me a most saturnine tune.

At what point is leaving not considered cruel?
Is it the encouragement of our loved once,
As long as we promise to once more return?
Is it a private decision that is to not be judged by others,
Regardless of the anguish it causes others?
Perhaps as long as the treasure gained,
Whether it be in gold or memories,
Outweighs the pain caused,
It is acceptable to depart?

Her red hair shines in the moonlight,
As her face twists up such a saturnine way,
Her expression seemly a mirror of my heart's own experiences in this moment.

And as the guitar trails off,
The song finishing on an unfinished note,
I am alone once again in this room,
Staring out at the stars,
And a lonely, lonely moon

I see you now,
Tired soldier,
Your last battle long since past,
I see your tattoos,
Your scars of war,
Your soul tortured by long past deeds.

Know that I don't hate you,
Tired soldier,
For you did your duty,
Your honor unblemished and upheld.
I salute you,
Tired soldier,
On this cold winter night,
And know that we shall meet once more in a lively and lovely field.

The sky will be blue,
The grass oh so very green,
The flowers colorful in their bloom,
The wind softly whispering,
Through the trees in the distance,
The temperature warm,
With the sun kissing your face with a lover's hue.

There we will sit,
Tired soldier,
With your brothers and sisters,
Long since past,
And regale each other with outstanding tales,
We shall laugh,
We shall weep,
We shall lie,
We shall believe,
And we will find contentment in this place.

So sleep now,
Tired soldier,
Your watch is done,

Sleep, and be forever at peace

I sit beside you upon a rock.

Sometimes you are old and tired,
Sometimes young and confused,
Sometimes wrinkled and eroded by time,
Sometimes unblemished and new.

You are always in the same place though,
Although what you look out at is almost never the same,
A desert vista,
A wooded mountain,
A busy city,
The ocean as it crashes with great spray.

I sit beside you as you look out upon the scene,
And gaze upon your face,
The expression sometimes fearful and clenched in anguish,
Sometimes with joy and lack of pain.

I sit with you there,
Looking out at the world,
Sometimes you tell me your tale,
Of battles won,
Of lovers lost,
Of incredible adventures and times relived once again.

Other times you scream at the unfairness,
You blame me,
Shouting obscenities and things profane.

Other times it is but a quiet prayer,
A litany of holy scripture and proverbs that you repeat every day.

But in the end you always quiet down,
And look upon my face,
With tired eyes,
With heavy bones,
And listen to what I have to say.

I never say the same thing twice to you,
As we sit,
Upon this umbral plain,
And once complete,
We look out upon the world,
As the distance starts to haze.

Sometimes you ask if it will hurt,
Sometimes you ask what comes next,
I just shrug my shoulders and give a little smile,
For the next event was never meant for my gaze.

You close your eyes,
As you leave this place,
Finding peace in an eternal embrace.

I know each of your faces,
I come to know each of your stories,
And to each one I shall weep.

For you will never be alone,
I shall be waiting,
Upon that rock,
Waiting quietly to speak.