Where is the line drawn?
Between hope and naivety?
Where the swelling of one's heart is nothing more than a fool's boon?
Instead of being a warming energy that radiates to the limbs?

Is it experience,
Hard won through heartbreak and loss?
Is it wisdom,
Some innate talent that some just have?

Forewarned is forearmed,
To keep the danger at bay,
But at what point does that wariness become a cage?
From what distance is everything far enough away,
To keep out the terrors of the world,
But close enough to live your life?

I'll tell you,
Bear witness to my words,
A question is your answer in this paradox,
How much are you willing to risk?

How much are you willing to lose,
How far of a fall are you willing to take,
For the sake of living your life,
For when you open yourself up to the wilds of the world,
Is when you truly start to live.

It keeps me up at night,
The future,
Such a beautiful place of impossibilities,
A place that holds the laughter of my son,
The tears over my just-passed wife,
And my grandchild's love of books.

Trickling water through a brook,
Down from the mountain and into a stream,
Gently carving into the land a tale,
A sad yet happy tune for all to hear.

Mountains to those not from here,
Hills to its inhabitants,
Safeguarding those who live here from the poisons of the modern world,
Locking away it's people in a small slice of time.

Moonshine is made here,
Where the big bucks wander,
A place where the turkey, elk, and illusive bobcat roam free,
Where the hawks, warblers, and grouse abound,
Bears trundle,
And hill folk dance and sing.

Lapping of water upon the shore,
Footprints left in the sand erode and fade,
Giving its mark back to the beach,
Temporary and forgotten.

Roaring of the waves a crescendo of sound,
The distant bellow of the great beast that is the sea,
An eternal cry of Neptune's beast,
A warning and challenge to the brave of heart.

The struggle of water and earth,
Gaining and losing ground,
Fighting for dominance since time immemorial,
Destined to battle forever more.

Sitting with my father,
And a man I grew up regarding as an uncle,
Catching up and reminiscing of earlier days,
When they did something that made my heart break.

They both looked at an empty chair,
As if waiting for it to chime in,
A chair where a third man used to sit.

My father's smile grew slack,
The twinkle that was there snuffed out,
My uncle took a quick draw,
From both his cigarette and his beer,
Both sucker-punched by the old sting of grief,
Remembering their 3rd.

A mix of these two men,
The third use to be,
A man with an uproarious personality,
The kind of friend every man finds that he needs.

He was a kind soul,
A man to emulate,
Kindred to his fellows,
A rare quality you never see.

A confidant,
A sounding board,
A getaway driver,
A unique kind of breed.

They come to,
The moment shattered,
And they continue to speak.

Flickering little flame,
guttering in your final moments,
what was once some great blaze,
now gasping your final breaths.

Lower and lower now,
blinking some kind of morse code into the Aether,
telling those out beyond the dark of your tale,
of your victories and defeats.

Of where you were and what you did,
the sights you saw and the things you heard,
whisper some more now,
little flame.

Tell them of how you started out as this little spark,
brought forth from material energy,
whose trip was a tale all its own,
summoned from the heavens to bear down,
and claim your terrestrial throne.

And oh, what a throne you held,
little flame,
rising up to conquer this world,
beautiful yet terrifying,
horrifying and baroque,
a destructive force that would sweep the board,
and set up the pieces anew.

You smolder out,
little flame,
accompanied by a little whisp of smoke,
a sad but appropriate epitaph,
to mark the end of your reign,
a glowing ember all that remains,
which disappears soon after you.

Thousands upon thousands,
Twinkling lights thrown up upon the sky,
Little islands of white out in the distance,
Oceans of black separating them.

Each so far,
And yet so close,
Reach out and never touch them still,
The Galaxy arm spanning the gap,
Marking our tiny place on this big ol' map,
A tiny island all our own

Dust kicked up by boots in the auburn dusk,
Fire alight with June's angry ire,
A lover scorned,
Willing to burn with her most righteous of anger,
Plucking out angry chords upon a silver and brass lyre.

Clothing hugging tight,
Leaving nothing yet everything to the imagination,
Sweet temptress of addiction and spite,
Eyes blazing green like a copper-fueled flame.

Cheekbones so sharp that it slices the air as she passes,
With those ****** features only second in their cutting potential when compared to her razor words.

Legs like stilts,
Going all the way to the moon,
With heels that could have punctured the hands of Christ,
That could just as easily be used to keep one's casket securely closed.

Those eyes seem angry,
We should probably start running

Call in the kids from the yard,
Won't you love?
Supper is ready,
And the table is set.

Our children run in,
Excited to tell us all about their day,
Of school subjects they're excited about,
And all the new friends they met.

You look at me with an amused look in your eyes,
When they complain about their troubles,
As if it will be the hardest thing they'll ever face,
And I smirk too, amused as well but also filled with melancholy.

I open my eyes,
And I look over to see you sleeping next to me,
And I look back at the dream I just had.

No,
Not a dream,
Just a glimpse into the future,
Just around the bend...

Spare me your honeymoon love,
Give me some of that seven-year-old love,
Where sacrifices are given,
And sacrifices are taken,
Where your significant other is your port in all storms,
The foundation your house is built upon.

Wouldn't you stay?

I'm looking here,
Why is it gloom all that I see?
Let me shine a light into these dark corners with a candle,
Chase away this negativity with a warm orange glow.

I know just one candle doesn't illuminate much,
But with this flame other candles can be lit,
And perhaps we can brighten up this room just a little bit more.

Naive?
Maybe,
But I just can't feel the wrong,
For life is hard,
And being pessimistic is just too **** tiring,
Perhaps we can try something new?

Can you give me a moment to gather my thoughts,
and let me know if I'm wrong,
but are there just some days where everything just seems to click?

Where the turbulent winds of the world calm for a second,
Realization comes in that allows you take stock,
and let's you come to the conclusion that things aren't as bad as they seem?

We're on a trail of time,
Spanning such a cosmic range of distance,
and that we get so wrapped up in the here and now,
we simply forget that the trail doesn't just up and stop around the next bend?

Hard times end,
Storms come to a stop,
and the sun will arise once again,
The body dies,
but the soul travels on,
and the world rotates again.

Sometimes, I just get blown away by how beautiful you are,
with a smile that clears away the clouds on an overcast day,
And a laugh that sounds me like church bells,
That I hope will ring in the near future.

I went a looking for a ring,
And I was blown away by the prices of a rock and a bit of gold,
But you are so worth it,
I'd be happy to pay for 10 times more.

I know I planned to propose to you in Scotland,
but with our little unexpected addition to our family,
I hope the mountains of Kentucky will just be as magical to you.

Our time together gets me through the bad days at work,
where nothing goes right,
And getting to sleep next to you makes me wish I never have to leave bed.

Our banter makes Abbot and Costello jealous,
and gets us laughing so hard I tear up,
and you nearly ***.

You are the one for me,
And everyone I know can see,
I can't wait to get down on one knee,
And ask you to marry me.

My heart flutters thinking about you in a white dress,
and my stomach drops thinking about seeing you walk down the aisle to me.

I can't wait, my May Queen,
It's something I can't wait to see.

Long absences,
My muse fills me once again,
I am afraid to stoke the fires of it too quickly,
and let these embers get chocked out and die.

But the words are flowing,
and my mind feels so clear,
The troubles of the world are held at bay for a moment,
And for now, it's just me and these keys I type on.

So while it's still here I will type,
My stature relaxed and my heart light,
And hope it burns some more

My darling son,
I write this one for you.

You're so far away,
Still so many months from meeting you,
And meeting the man you will be.

I can't wait to see your first steps,
To hear your first words,
To take you trick-or-treating the first time,
To absolutely embarrass you with my antics.

Will you like music like me,
Will you be as sharp-witted as your mother,
Will you be as much of a hellion as your old man,
Will you be as ambitious as the woman I've come to love so much.

What will be your favorite sport,
if you like them at all,
What will your greatest fear be,
And how can I help you conquer it?

You know you already have scared the living **** out of me approximately times,
And that made your mother laugh each time,
I swore to her that I wouldn't be a worrier,
But we both knew I was lying.
How many more heart-stopping moments do you have planned for me, I wonder?

How many times do you think I'm too strict,
That I make your life unfair,
That I just need to chill a little bit?
How many times do you think I'm a stick in the mud,
Not knowing I was a steely-eyed warrior,
Who traded in his sword for a swaddle blanket,
And his bullets for a Babybjorn,
Doing so with a smile on my face.

I look to the far future,
Where I see you in a suit,
Some of your best friends by your side,
Nervously awaiting the arrival of your bride,
In this glimpse you glance over at me,
And you'll see I am so happy.

Looking further,
You'll be in scrubs,
Perhaps with an unshed tear in your eye,
And tell your mother and eye that your own son is born,
That my son,
Will have my heart so filled with pride.

But that is so far away,
My Boy,
And for now I just await to hold you,
And shed a tear of my own.

My son,
We can't wait to show you how wonderful this world can be.

Looking around,
Pit-Pat Paddy-Wack,
Heart bat-batting to an electronic beat,
Morale swinging like a grandfather clock,
Tick-Tick-Tocking,
One moment serene like a Sholin Monk,
The next rageful like Kublai Khan,
Sweat running like rivulets like some kind of Gatorade commercial,
Vision a-tunneling,
Fists a-tightening.

This inner monster jumpin,
Like a monkey on the bed,
While the outer demon is swayin,
Like a reed in the breeze,
Duality being duplicitous,
And clarity illusive like a cloud in the fog.

It came from the blue,
Not quite true,
For we had been scared a time or two to be true,
But now,
WOW,
Such a tiny "+" symbol can change so much.

You now rest in your Mama,
Just the size of a jellybean,
but our little Bam beano.
how you'll grow.

Will you love Harry Potter,
Star Wars,
both, neither?

In my dreams I see you playing the guitar,
but I'd be just as happy if you decided to play the bassoon,
to follow your dreams,
and love the journey for the beautiful chaos that it is.
To be foolish and terrifying,
because like Willi Carlisle says,
"It takes a certain kind of fool,
to make a difference in the world."

I imagine you being kind,
and these acts bring tears to my dilated eyes.

Speaking of eyes,
Will you have your mother's or my eyes?
Here entrancing green or my steely blue?
Will the world harden your eyes to what you see,
or will what you see soften you to what you can do?

Sweet child,
are you my daughter or my son?
Will you have me wrapped around your finger?
Or will you have me thinking of my own old man,
trying to not do what he failed in and copy what he had succeeded with.

I think of the future,
the danger,
the cost,
the sheer time.

God the time.

When you learn to drive, I'll be 44,
graduate with the class of 40 or 41.

My God the time.

We can't wait to meet you, my child,
Our sweet little bean,
Whether you're a Wyatt or an Ellise,
Just know that Mommy and Daddy love you,
and can't wait to show you the world,
with all in it to be seen.

It zips forward and past,
Through and around,
Tick Tock goes the hazy clock,
Apples decay to fuzzy and shriveled husks,
Beside blooming lilies.

Just five and a half years,
Transformation in the oddest of ways,
arriving bitter and broken,
Moving along this next path as excited and improved.

Momentum gaining,
like breaking into a run downhill,
where any moment's hesitation brings devastation and disorientation,
Heartbeat hammering from a stone solid 50 to 105,
is it anticipation that drives this acceleration.

Ecstasy of movement and insanity,
like feather brushes of fae-like intent,
getting lost in fogs of spirituality and philosophy.
Brutal momentum of guitar strings being finger picked,
Psychically projecting images of brutal revenge and bitter grief

Madness? No
******....

What are you, a cop?

Missing a step now,
the stumble turns into a tumble,
as the green of the grass flash past, as does the blue-white of the sky. Blue then green, blue then green,
blue green,blue green, blue green,
bluegreen, bluegreen, bluegreen
bluegreenbluegreenbluegreenbluegreen.

The hill turned out to be a cliff,
stomach roiling as I fall,
into some fantastic and manic vision below.

Seeing as it's 6:45 in the morning,
I pray that this will suffice,
That a poem on your phone,
Beats a petal on a pillow,
In the Tuesday morning light.

It's your kind and empathic nature my May Queen,
That I find so sweet,
That you could be such a rousing supporter,
Of my dumb jokes and my argumentative streak.

I promise next time will be a pedal,
The fortune teller said that'd be fine,
So sleep well my lion, dragon, and May Queen,
Revel in the sandman's night time delights.

Oh my beautiful May Queen,
Sleeping beside me on this bed,
Your hair tousled,
Breathing soft and rythmic,
Dog staring out the window to your left.

I wonder to myself,
On this Saturday morning,
Of how lucky I could be,
To have met such a pearlescent example of goodness in the world,
And graced enough to have you see me.

Your kindness is without second,
Your gentleness bar none,
With a mischievous streak a mile long,
And a loving tenderness that sings out to my heart a great and gentle song.

A balm to my anger,
Your words and touch have been,
A gentle pouring of warm water upon my heart set abalze,
To temper my hatred and my rage.

I know that I wish to wed you my May Queen,
Who sleeps gently by my side,
Perhaps you'll dance and merrily keen,
At that ring if gold and jewel inside.

But for now my love,
I must sleep again,
For sleep piles heavy at my eyes,
So that I may wake up,
So happy and carefree,
That you are by my side

Sitting and swinging,
On the bench of my Grandfather's lakeside home,
Where warm summers were spent,
Learning to swim, ski, and fish in Kentucky waters,
Where I read The Stand in a week,
When I was only 13 years old.

Where I plinked at soda cans with a BB gun,
Had corn on the cob, hushpuppies, and catfish,
Had annual family putt putt competitions,
And night's filled with dominoes and stayed up until 3,
Just sitting on the porch and watching the moon bathed lake,
Passing a J and listening to the crickets,
Softly holding discussions regarding topics from music to the planets,
We truly talked about everything.

That summer we spent fixing up that job boat, swimming the half mile across the cove without a life jacket,
Where I truly felt at peace.

They took you off life support,
The day the willow flies died,
I went back to work,
Finished my shift,
But to tell the truth I felt hollow inside.

You were already brain dead,
The doc's said,
That you wouldn't be in any pain,
But all that was running through my head,
Was memories of disturbingly good meatloaf,
And looking forward to you birthday cakes made from scratch,
Every single year.

I thought of the horror my mother must be going through,
Watching her life long friend,
Tube down her throat,
Having to watch her pass.

Eyes stinging from loss,
Anger bubbling deep inside,
Need to go get drunk,
Smash some ****,
That's a healthy way to deal with it....

Right?

Your raspy laugh, joining into with my mom's fit of guffaws,
At some dumb inside joke,
That all started when you two were still in grade 5.


I get home to the apartment,
Bring the whiskey to my lips,
It's frostbite burn making it's way down my throat,
To pool,
Swirl,
And radiate out,
Making me numb and glacial cold.

It was so unexpected,
That's the rub,
To blindside us,
To make this hurt so raw,
But it's the fact that you were one of the TRULY good ones,
That's what chaps me most of all.

One of those special breed,
That makes you want to shout up at God,
To unleash your grief, anger, and dare I say it, hatred?
To spit in the face of some divine plan?

It poured down though,
A downward deluge so bad it's as if it's Him confirming,
That he is saddened by having to do it too.

She told me as they wheeled you out of your hospital room,
The staff lined the hall,
As they wheeled you to that surgical suite,
Where you were to perform your last physical act of kindness in the world,
To donate your lungs and and kidney to people who desperately needed them,
And that makes me tearfully wonder too.

Will they ever know of you,
Your gentle nature and generosity,
Loving demeanor and benevolent heart,
To help all those that you knew?
....
That they took you off life support,
They day the willow flies died,
Where the sun was bright,
It poured down lake Erie,
When the angel trumpets bloomed.

I sit in an ocean of empty Budweiser bottles,
Upon an island of Johnnie Walker Blue,
Mind flittering  through topics,
Whilst Steve Martin rocks the banjo,
Pickin' those old folk tunes.

I'm in a happy spot,
Between buzzed and blitzed,
That place you can only get to on a summer evening,
Or perhaps a bachelor party or two.

But listen to me ramble,
Please,
Come and take a seat,
Your dogs must be barking,
Would you like a cig?
Or perhaps a drink?

If it's neither that's no matter,
It's the company that keeps,
Just ignore my rambling when it crops up,
Treat it like a bad **** on a spring breeze.

You remember old cartoons?
What care and expertise.
Every cell hand drawn,
Fufilling every child's entertainment needs.

But what of old television programming?
What the hell happened to MTV?
Just give me my music videos and rock music,
Even if you can only go as far back as 2003.

Oops,
I'm doing it again,
How embarrassing,
Just a tipsy old fool,
Remember,
A **** on the spring breeze.

But seriously,
What about Vault?
Saturday morning cartoons?
Products as seen on tv?
Cha-cha-cha-chia?
Myspace?
Zines?

Perhaps you don't know what all those are,
Too young to remember the scene,
Of ska, skateboards, roller derbies,
Of Cribs, **** my ride, skating videos, and terrible tv.

Remember it all,
Those strange years,
Young and transitionary.

I remember it all,
Those strange, strange years,
Back in 2003.

Wind howling,
Lightning arcing,
Rain falls in great painful sheets,
With thunder booming like the yells of some great giant,
Woken from his eternal sleep.

I wonder what it feels like,
To be struck by one of those voluminous bolts,
To be ignited by plasma who's degrees are in the thousands,
To be burned out to the core.

Sitting on the porch,
Drawing from an ice cold bottle,
I think back to my childhood,
Tyler Childers yodeling into this pre-summer air,
I'm drawn back to when I was six...

My father's father babysitting me,
Taking me for a walk through his garden,
Filled with carrots, tomatoes, and onions
Which he tended to every day,
I remember asking him what it meant to be a hard worker.

He paused to look at me,
In that way he would,
His face seeming to scrunch in on itself,
And after a moment,
As it always would,
Would return to it's natural state.

He told me to wait there,
And was gone but a minute or two,
He came back with a bucket and some trowels,
And had us digging up the veggies he grew.

It felt like hours to my children's mind,
But was probably only a minute or two,
The bucket was filled,
He paused in his labors,
And told me to give him my hand.

His hand dwarfed my own,
Dispite it being ravaged and shrunken with age,
He held my hand up for inspection,
And with a slight grin,
Turned to show me what he saw.

It didn't appear to be anything to me,
Just some dirt and grit on my hand,
Until he explained with wise words,
"A hard worker ends his day with dirt under his fingernails, Louie, that's all that needs to be seen",
And with a nod,
We went inside,
To wash up for chili and franks.

I never knew that he was sick.

Fast forward a couple of years,
And I'm playing in the creek of my childhood home,
Looking for snakes,
And enjoying the day,
My mother came out,
Looking upset,
And called me in,
That we were going to go see Grandpa,
And with that my heart soared.

It didn't soar long.

He looked so small,
In that sterile hospice bed,
But as children often are,
I was oblivious to the situation,
And ran up to his bed.

He was so weary looking back,
Ravaged by cancer and time,
His face a roadmap of hardships,
Of trials sustained through the years,
But not seeing this then I ran up to him,
I smiled and said,
"I'm a hard worker Grandpa, just like you said!"

Adorning the undersides if my nails,
Black from creek mud and grime,
Some life returned to his dying eyes,
And dispite not being able to speak,
It didn't matter,
No words needed to be said.

It was the last time I saw him,
So long ago it seems,
But that old man taught me a good lesson,
That I won't ever forget.

Being brought back to the present,
Bone tired after a 12 hour shift,
I look at my hands and grin,
Grin at the carbon encrusted nails and oil stained creases.

The signs of a hardworking man.

Mandolin plinking from a tiny speaker,
McKnight doing his damndest to make my knee bounce,
Bringing tunes that remind me of Appalachian summers,
Transporting me to those mountains and hills.

Summer barbeques with Carolina gold slopped into mashed taters,
Sweet corn smothered in butter,
Gentle breezes and acoustic guitars,
Grilling meat and beer in ice-filled coolers,
Giggling young'uns and laughter of their parents,
Such vivid memories of the oldest generations,
Telling of the time their homesteads received electricity.

These wise elders regaled us with oddities and anecdotes,
Nuggets of delivered knowledge wrapped in allegory and stories,
Their amusement evident in their not-as-bright eyes,
As they watch us trying to suss out true blue kernels of wisdom from the tall tales.

Family friends that are loved just as strongly as my own parents,
Friends they grew up with,
From WAY back in the day,
Telling each other the same tale for the millionth time,
And yet laughing uproariously like it was the first time.

These are days that have been in the past,
And snapshots of days in the future,
When supper in summer Appalachia happens once again,
Great nostalgia and anticipation wrapped up in a great ball of joy,
South of the Ohio Border.

Mournful tunes,
Sorrowful news,
There is a savage grace at work in one who can sink below the lowest depths of hell and come back up with such a cautionary diamond,
Simmering rage boiling beneath calm water surfaces,
Dealing with their own past perdition in stride.

Disconnection and disassociation,
From old jobs, old apartments, and houses.
Like I'm a ghost who'd fragmented into so many pieces and places,
Who's hauntings connect me to these people and locations.

Chains that bind one another in an eternal embrace of love and despising,
Tired bones in a youthful frame,
Disjointed memories and discombobulated thoughts,
In grey mush contained by a dome,
Perpetuating thoughts along neural highways and electrical connections,
Riding a lattice-work of joints and tendons,
Bringing a lumbering machine of flesh and carbon,
Through this odd and enthralling plain.

12 jobs,
9 cars,
78 Summers,
5 partners,
Such odd yet specific numbers.

Grains of sand through an aperture,
Tick tick tick goes the pocket watch,
Tock tock tock goes the grandfather clock,
Bing **** goes the church tower,
Cookoo goes the antiquated clock.

Seconds, minutes, hours, days.
Glimpses, figments, memories, experiences.

Snippets, songs, albums, discographies.
EP, LP, Concepts, compilations.

Take a breath and see what you can,
For here one minute,
Gone the next,
For the Law of Averages is the way things have always gone,
And the way it's always went.

Levon Helm haunts my ears this morning,
As I drive up 127 with the top down,
Passing by Montezuma,
So I can see a most peculiar sight.

There's a town in an Ohio,
Where time seems to have been frozen,
A singular main street of tall buildings,
Surrounded by fields of corn and soy,
Where I have only seen blue skies and sunshine.

Like Springsteen's song the band is covering,
It seems to be a town of perpendicular and parallels,
Booming business amidst rust belt squalor,
A mixture of broken souls of the old,
Sprinkled throughout the shining and smiling faces of the young,
Looking forward to escaping?
Or maybe content in their little slice of 80's America?

There is a lake that is the namesake of the town,
Or maybe it's the other way around?
That borders this town on it's eastern side,
And for long I have always wished to just take a day and sit upon it's shore,
To take a day and just breath.

It was honestly a mistake that first brought me through this sleepy town,
All those years ago,
Through this odd land surrounded by forests of windmills,
That stretch to the horizon like fields full of planted and forgotten giant's pinwheels,
That took me from Detroit to Cincinnati by way of the Indiana border,
And arriving here felt like a surreal dream.

Just a silly 18 year old,
How was I to understand the uniqueness of this place I'd stumbled upon?
But going back up a year later,
A calling I felt deep in my bones,
To see if it was more than a dream,
So return I did,
And to my surprise it still remained,
This analogue paradox in such a digital age.

10 years later,
And it is all the same,
As if the world outside doesn't matter,
And perhaps it never would.

I pass through slowly,
Waving back at the residents that throw up a hand in greeting,
Such a antiquated greeting that still kept alive in this time capsule town,
And as I pass through it's district,
As quickly as I came,
A warmth remains,
Some nostalgic sensation for something I have barely experienced as a kid,
Or perhaps only imagined I did.

How's your heart,
If your heart was a tank of gasoline?
Is it full of rich, high octane jet fuel?
Or is it sputtering,
With only the dregs of several month old junk at the bottom?
Filled with iron oxide sediment and dirt?

The door swing violently on hinges,
Being slammed open from my hurried retreat,
Breath burning in my lung from a headlong sprint,
Running from pain and rejection,
Running from potential jeers and slants made against me.

You weren't strong enough,
You weren't fast enough,
Why didn't you see it sooner,
WHY DIDN'T YOU SAVE HIM?!?

Tears streaming from eyes burning in shame,
Feet hurting from the force of being slapped bare against asphalt,
As the road gives way to grass.

You could have been better,
You could have done more,
Why didn't you see it sooner,
WHY DIDN'T YOU SAVE HIM!?!

Blood dripping from nails digging into palms,
Vision tunneling,
Head light,
Self hatred building.

I wasn't kind enough,
I wasn't there in time,
Why didn't I see it sooner,
WHY DIDN'T I SAVE HIM?

....

Legs give as muscles cramp,
Vision slowly returns,
Finding myself alone in the woods,
Silence blankets all around.

Breath returns to normal,
And sense finally returns,
The cutting words still gnawing in the background,
Should have never given them a chance to get a foothold.

Slowly returning,
Plodding steps sending up twinges of pain from raw bare feet,
Returning to the normal world.

She walks through a once destroyed field,
Bare feet slipping through tall grass upon this warm and clear summer day,
A place once filled with shattered rifle and hewn shield,
Crater-filled like the surface of the moon,
Now but small divots from where artillery shells were sent their way.

Her hair the color of spun gold and copper,
Looks out upon the grave of equipment and limbs,
Overgrown with wildflowers and sapling acting as shims,
Filling the spaces where corpses were dropped where men once stood,
Stood tall and proud for the sake of honor.

Green eyes flecked with silver,
Peer into both present and past,
Looking out upon both abject horror and utter beauty,
At ghosts long past and young men,
Looking into eyes filled with dread and deadness one moment,
And the next with exuberance and naivety.

Step by step she crosses these hill filled plains,
Teaming with life,
Where once not even the rats could survive.

Gentle breeze kisses her cheek,
Where once it would have been blistered by gas,
An elemental force providing a cooling sensation,
Once upon a time it would have been nothing but burning and fire.

Bees lazily drift across the visage,
Where once it would have been bullets,
And at this she freezes and her heart breaks,
Looking at what she sees.

In this duality she sees a young man,
Crying and clenching at his chest,
Laying in one of the small divots that adorn the land,
And at the same time she sees only a skeleton adorned in tattered cloth,
Still in silent in the final sleep.
She crouches down beside the boy/skeleton and gently caresses his cheek,
At this the boy looks up and stops his shrieks,
Gazing upon this angel in a land where not even the devil would tread.

A ghost of a smile graces his lips,
As a dulling takes place in his eyes,
The pulsing blood slows and stops,
And the specter of explosions slowly fade to wind through the grass once again.

She stands,
And continues on her way,
Witness to a hell made heaven,
In a field of France on a summer day.

Gentle brushes upon a strong back,
Clouds of dirt going airborne with each pass,
A metaphorical cleansing of my own soul parallels the cleaning of the coat.

Gentle eyes that peer past barriers,
Caring not for the ****** past that is seen behind the walls,
But instead focusing on the soul that built them,
Perhaps there's some good there?

Scraping muck and awful from ***** hooves,
Shedding spiritual mud and dirt from crevices in my heart,
Making it lighter with each pass.

Tack is put on,
The gentle creak of leather and tinkling of metal buckles and clasps,
Tightening down violent thoughts and keeping them secured.

Bit gently slipped in,
Caring being taken to ensure a comfortable fit,
Control being given back to my life.

A step into a stirrup and with a swing of a leg being settled upon the back of this beautiful creature,
Ears tilted back,
Listening to her rider.

Peace,
Contentment,
Healing.

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.

Hey there,
Glad to have you here at last.
I know that the porch is a bit chilled,
But there's a blanket on the couch,
Wrap yourself up and stay a bit,
Enjoy the Tunes,
And perhaps we will come to know a bit more about one another.

Eddie Vedder is the guest star for us tonight,
Talking of our connection between us and nature,
Fitting I think,
For my company here tonight.

When I was young I found that the world quite ******,
Filled with greed, selfishness, and awful,
It flowed around me like the sludge of delta,
That was on the outskirts of an industrial city,
Spewing oil-like pollution,
Our long term survival be ******.

When I was 18,
Freshly crossing the threshold that separates boy from man,
I came to find out there's more than just muck and mire.
There are fountains in these infested waters,
That spew forth clean, drinkable water,
Shining like golden beacons in this bayou-like slop.

....

I go to light a cigarette,
but looking back at you I quickly pocket it,
I know it bothers you,
and your comfort matters more to me than a quick fix of burning cinders and glowing embers.
Where was I again?
Doesn't matter, the song has changed and with it changes the train of thought.

The White Buffalo begins his tune,
Playing with all the momentum of a bucking bronco,
Yelling out in his unique way that he belongs in a much earlier time,
And I think the same holds true for you and me too.

I can imagine you down in the holler of Kentucky,
Or tucked away in some rural tract of Montana,
working with your horses,
Turning freight trains into true steeds,
Kind yet sassy like your own.
I know I would certainly be down in the holler,
Maybe farming,
Probably running shine,
With a smile on my face being chased by some coppers,
White lightning sloshing in the back and some splashed upon my mind.

The song changes again,
Where is the time going?
Benjamin Tod emanates from my phone now,
His tone, tune, and voice mellows me out a bit,
And I imagine you as well,
The song subject?
Difficult.
It's beauty?
Immeasurable.
Much like your views of people and those in this world.

I wouldn't call you naïve,
for that isn't true by any stretch,
But you see the best in others,
It scares me senseless,
For I know it's burned you before,
And it will burn you again,
But I will do my best to help you stay in this place,
For it is rarer than finding a fist sized diamond in a Tennessee Mountain.

The song comes to an end,
and the world is silent once more.
The playlist is over,
And I know you need to be heading home.
I walk you to the door and bring you in for a truly great bear hug.

The first time you hugged me you caught me by surprise,
making me realized that it was something that I loved supremely,
That you could find comfort from a broken down gruff grunt like me,
and that doing so brought some great measure of warmth to my touch-starved heart,
Something that I hadn't felt since I walled off that bleeding *****,
Many years ago.

I close the front door,
asking you to please let me know you got home safely,
and I retreat to the porch once more.

The familiar click of the zippo and burning of ash,
I feel guilty,
Even after you're gone,
I want to be better,
and perhaps I can be.

I stub it out after a few puffs,
blaming the short smoke on the cold March temperature.
Coming back to the warm inside,
And wait for you to say you've safely returned.

You said the other day that you saw people as puzzles,
That each person was a whole is a picture comprised of pieces,
Each piece a picture all it's own.

You said that you liked the picture my puzzle showed,
Multifaceted and colorful,
Each bringing in new prospectives that you didn't see before.

But that little monster that resides in the corner of my mind wonders,
Will you always think the same?
What about the pieces that are waterlogged and warped,
The ones destroyed by rough handling,
Careless placement leaving them bent and even torn?

I know that you'll say that it doesn't matter,
And perhaps that may be true,
But I know there are some pieces that even I don't like,
They're ugly, repugnant, and even grotesque.

But I shall place my trust in you,
a fragile piece of my heart,
as you become a piece all you're own.

In time perhaps you'll become that final piece,
that makes my picture whole

The fire is crackling,
Head slightly spinning,
The world is quiet as I write,
Zevon keeps me company tonight,
Thinking thoughts of you.

It's hard to believe you've been gone for three months already,
Three months since your sister broke the news.

Perhaps I held off writing this,
Thinking that not doing so kept some part of you alive,
That my simple denials were all it took to keep you with us.

Perhaps it was after that the anger,
Rage at what you'd done,
Bitter at the precieved betrayal,
That if anyone were to kick off this mortal coil first it was gonna be me.

Maybe it was that I was holding out hope that if I didn't write this you would just appear one day, and as long as I didn't you would say.

It might have been I was just too tired.

I remember when we first met,
I thought you as nobody more than some silly kid from Staten Island,
With dreams and delusions bigger than your stomach,
But you won me over with corny jokes and high spirits,
Whether it be because of the ****** weather,
Or when my Grandmother died.

The tears come now,
On this chilly March morn,
As I think back, to 3 months ago.

I hadn't seen your family in years,
The ones who considered me like a second son and brother,
Fearing they would hate me,
For what I wasn't quite sure,
That I hadn't done more,
That we hadn't spoke to one another in so long?
I certainly hated myself,
Driving through those Pennsylvania Wilds.

I remember the last time we spoke,
Relaxing in your familial home,
You embraced me and told me to be careful,
Telling me you loved me in your own words,
And I told you in my own words too.
God I ******* miss you.

Zevon plays on,
The tears come faster still,
The screen is blurry as I type,
Warren's words echo what I imagine yours would be.

You were a poet,
A warrior,
A brother,
My friend.

Confidant,
Motivator,
Philosopher,
My friend.

When we took you to the cemetery,
I was right there at your side,
Carrying you to where you would forever rest,
Before they sealed you in I snuck my pin into your hands,
I was afraid you'd forget me.

I was the first to leave the building,
So I could sneak around a corner and shatter.
The brave face I held for your family impossible to maintain,
I suspect your family knew,
But it was the way I was raised.

After I left for home,
About halfway I broke down again,
This time on a cliffside vista,
The landscape mostly obscured by the driving snowstorm and evening gloom.

The rest of the way I played your favorite tunes, and sang along as badly as you use to.

I miss you Mike,
And I know I will never completely understand,
But you will always be with me,
Upon my arm and in my heart,
Watching my back through all my stupid ideas.

Warren's song has ended,
The fire died down to glowing embers,
Tears dried and eyes aching,
Tiredness dragging at my bones.

But I'll heed his words, Mike,
I'll keep you in my heart for a while,
Alongside all the others.

After all,
He never said how short "a while" had to be

Walls closing in, hard to breath,
Staccato rhythmic my chest.
Looking back over every word,
How did I **** up,
Had to,
How could I not,
Dark,
Dismal,
Sinister whispers.

Been a while since I felt this sensation,
Like an unwelcome person back into my life,
****** up,
Had to,
Rata-tat-tat goes the heart.

Forgive me for my **** up,
Twas not my intent,
Words slipping out without realizing,
Hours later,
Analyzing,
Reanalyzing,
Overanalyzing?
No, wouldn't feel this way otherwise.

Apologies not enough,
What if this is the straw that breaks the back,
What if this is the point where it all falls apart?

My fault,
Of course my fault,
How can it not be my fault.
Rata-tat-tat goes the heart in the chest.

Pressure release valve needed,
None to be found,
Reach for my laptop and pound on the keys,
Will words be enough?
Will the prose suffice?
Am I bound for a torturous night of no sleep?

But I deserve it,
How can I not,
Good ol' Rob ******* up yet again,
Can't do anything right,
Could never do anything right,
Deserves all that he gets.

Vision narrowed,
Tunnel of black,
Pinpricks of light that are all that can be seen.
Turning burning eyes into watery blurs,
Rata-tat-tat goes the engine as it screams.

Yellow lines blurring past
in rapid succession like a stream of tracers
wind tearing at hair and shaded eyes
a radiant warmth from the sun huggin' the back of the neck and shoulders
racing to catch up to this wanderer's position
cursing at this lowly traveler for getting the drop on it


You know... if you spoke "sun", I guess.
(Look I know the metaphor kind of got away from me on that one, my bad.)


Regardless, where were we?
(Lines....wind.... sun metaphor.... here we are)
This lone wanderer from the ancient east
where man and land alike were choked with smoke and rusted through
(Yeah, people love that shift from normal to proto-fantastical, hero's journey and all that jazz...)
Seeking outstanding territories
untouched, ******, and new
...
...

(Does proto-fantastical even sound right? I guess that works in the sense that it alludes to some kind of ancient civilization of peoples, taking place in some fantasy realm. That reminds me, I need to check that idea I jotted down when I was at the market so I wouldn't lose the idea if I forgot it. Which I did, so hooray for good habits! ........ Why are they staring at me? OH ****!)

Sorry about that!
Totally my bad, continuing on...

(Where the hell was I?)
...
And the Wanderer enjoyed these lands? The end!

(NAILED IT!!!)

......
......

(Why are they looking at me like that?)