Is it upon such a limbo I must dwell?
Where hope is lost and none is well?
To be in a state where hatred swells?
Where quarrelling is preferred to the silence of this empty well?

Tell me the truth,
But don't break me so,
For I lack the spare parts,
To hold me together for more,
Be gentle on my frame,
None too unkind,
For this dread is most dreary,
When the end is neigh.

Proclaim to me a trade,
For every crumb of food in the land,
Every drop of wine,
Every glimmer of gold in the realm,
And still I wouldn't trade it for a singular moment of time.

Oh, carry me on the winds of a sleepless dream,
Where there's fields aplenty upon the fiddler's green,
Where the woman is kind and the man is fit and clean,
Borne there upon St. Albans' wing.

Drift me off upon a fiddlers tune,
To a place where the sky is such a brilliant blue,
Where hope is abounding like those dog-days in June,
Where magnolias sprout forth like passion renewed.

****** me forth upon the lover's blade,
A more precarious place no other man can claim,
Where hope and love balance upon a precarious edge,
So easy to tumble off into that dark and void-filled death.

To be in such a state,
forsaking sleep,
Carries me to this strangest of dream,
For without such abstention,
And lack of means,
My creativity floweth out into an endless stream.

I dreamt last night,
Of rolling  hills and fields oh so green,
A place I've never been,
Of places where my ancestors wandered, foraged, and lived,
The land of faeries, kelpies, and the Bean-nighe.

One side of them were cutthroats, scoundrels, and raiders,
The other descendants from the Pict kings and slayers of bears,
Warriors one and all,
Rebels and criminals too.

Fleeing to a new world,
Given different names,
Settling down in the land of Quakers and holy men,
Where war would call once again,
Spilling blood in a civil war of a different kind.

Flexing of biceps,
Feeling pressure like the skins gonna rip,
Tiger pacing in this cage,
Make it hurt this time please,
Give me a double of that delicious pain.

Let me hear that clinking of steel,
Turn my flab to taut,
Let me kneel at that altar,
And let me sacrifice that pound of flesh.

Skin crawling with fire,
Burning at 15 million degrees,
Let the frenzy of my highlander ancestors possess me,
Fill me up with that Scottish rage.

Singular focus,
Struggle is oh-so-great,
Carry me across the crest.

Ascend me to that higher plain,
To where my demons are slain,
Where the rest is granted with trembling muscles,
And the lungs burn with blood and sweat.
Let my chest be darkened with persperation,
Raining down from my brow like a deluge from the heavens,
Brought in my efforts and gains

Bring it on sandman,
You little ****,
I'm gonna break your ****** nose this time...

Crack you in the face with 3 cans of energy drinks,
Clap your ears with open palms of Clutch's latest album,  "Sunrise at Slaughter Beach" at 100 decibels,
Kick you in the nuts with a steel toed boot of a lit cigarette stuck in the nostril,
Inhaling deeply ,
Painfully sending cinders through my sinuses.

Body blows of cold water,
Blasted through the most concentrated setting on the nozzle of the showerhead,
You feeling it yet bud?!?

I can go 12 rounds,
And your knees are shaking on the 3rd.

Knock out a few teeth with smelling salts,
Kicking that sweet sweet adrenaline into overtime,
Overclocking the ol' brain matter with that brown fluid in the grey matter,
Show me them pearly whites now.

I will beat you this time slim,
I know all your tricks,
Give me your best shot,
And well see how well your blows meet the meat.

Immaculate hit you 3 ways,
Hard, fast, and repeatedly,
Write your will with your blood and spit,
Cuz when I'm done with you,
You'll be crawling away from me,
Beggin' like a little *****.

Self-loathing,
Self-hatred,
Guilt,
Pain,
I'll never be a good enough partner,
I'm failing right out of the gate.

I let you down,
I see it in your eyes,
I breached that trust you had in me,
And didnt live up to my own ideals,
A moment of weakness,
A moment of idleness,
Looping in my brain,
**** this tormentable guilt!

You say I get stuck in my own thinking,
Like a bird that's fallen into tar,
But thinking back,
If my brain is the tar,
I need to clean it some dawn.

Please let this storm pass,
Let the thunder die down in my mind
Let the lightning strikes fade,
For all that's holy,
May you forgive my trespasses still,
Let me be the man you said I could be,
And fly free,
Above the ooze and filth.

Excitement!
Anticipation!
Dread and Gloom!
All these emotions running through my head to name a few.

Taking the plunge,
And self-publishing one's first book,
Uncertain of this loving recreation's first foray into the world,
Will it be loved?
Will it go unread?
Only time will tell for this collection of prose and truth.

Come to me,
Oh look and see,
Please tell me that I don't belong.

To this place,
O' to this world,
To this situation I hath rote.

But negative,
Nay I say,
Tis a situation so grand,
That it can be only sung out in the tongue of yore,
For it is only the most noble of mantles,
Of Fatherhood's door I adorn.

It shall be I,
I be armed with simple tools,
A fresh ***** or bottle,
To assuage my young liege lord's woes,
For betwixt the soggy ure or rancid scitan,
I dread knowing such knowledge,
But my sacred duties of ****** I shan't ignore.

So for now,
Oh humble bards and wanderers,
Listen to this tale no more,
Create such joy and celebration,
For upon this day,
My Firstborn son is born.

I look out at my hometown,
And what is it I see?
I see a stranger,
Bearded and haggard,
Staring back at me.

Oh, my hometown,
So filled with cherished memories,
What happened to your pastures and your fields,
Your farms and your special feel?
Where I explored so deep in my formative years,
Never able to uncover all of your secrets.

Your fields are now filled,
With cookie-cutter suburbs, million-dollar home-o-ramas, and strip malls,
Your farms a distant memory,
Your pastures destroyed and paved over,
Parking for the urban refugee.

You were a place of mystery,
A home for 8 generations before me,
But now you are nothing but a hollowed-out husk,
Gutted for profit and a name.

Strum out to me,
Oh music man,
That sweet mandolin tune,
Tell me the secrets of this world,
I'll keep it just between you and me.

I'll take my snippets of unfinished poetry,
And you take your unfinished book,
We'll mash them together into a chunk of clay,
And what results I think will do.

Let me take you in my arms,
And swing about the room,
To some merry little jig,
Only heard between us three.

Let's laugh to loud like *******,
And banter like buffoons,
Rant and rave like jabbering macaws,
And croon until we're blue.

Take care of me when I drink too heavy,
And nod along to my song,
Even though my guitar may be out of tune,
Carry my traumas when they become too crushing,
And say you love me too.

A weary traveler,
The stoner dude,
Walkin' stick a'tappin,
To the stanza crooning out in his mind,
That oh-so-groovy tune.

It's a golden hour,
Everything framed in a gentle light,
Rounding edges like a fine-grit sandpaper,
The sky such a beautiful shade of blue.

The sunset is an interesting one,
Sherbert orange clouds topped with a subtle purple plume,
Crowned with golden-yellow cirrus.

I stand in awe of this majestic sight,
Breath swept along this noble image before me,
Casting the air exhaled on the currents of this exalted visage.

I never tried to describe the thrill of inspiration,
Let me try it here,
Maybe you'll understand,
That odd sensation of a muse that strikes with such a odd sense of glee.

A shudder at the lower back,
Like when you get a chill,
Tingling in the thighs,
Like you just squatted 400 lbs.
Accompanied by a shiver in the knees.

A quiver along the shoulders,
Like you're riding on some great wave.

Give me that sweet soul-******* blues,
Where my heart drops,
My mood drops,
Quicker than a stone in a well of *****.

Wail out to me that poor county tune,
With the man who lost everything,
Save for his heartache and a guitar,
Where he tells me of that bad juju.

Caress me with that sad ballad,
Of that woman who you love unconditionally,
Who can't give you what you need,
Where you can't ever get back that piece of your heart,
A piece that will forever be wilted and grey.

I'll drink it up,
A sponge that is fit to absorb it,
I'll do it all live long day,
I live for it,
Maybe it's a subtle masochism,
To hold my own pains at bay.

If you find me dead in the field,
Prop me up by the nearest tree,
Place my hat in my lap,
And face me west,
So my soul can leave with the sunset,
And my boots can finally have a reprieve.

You ask me what is wrong,
When you see the explosions behind my eyes,
Staring out at a landscape that's not there.
Hearing gunshots that aren't there,
And screams of men long dead.

I brush it off sometimes,
Coming to,
Seeing the concern in your expression,
And I know that I can't lie,
But sometimes it's just too much for me to tell you,
Some things just too painful to share.

Some of it is to protect you,
Some of it is to protect me,
From that awful time in that awful place,
Where peace was so hard to find,
And impossible to see.

Sometimes I can tell you parts,
The parts you could understand,
But others wouldn't make sense to those who weren't there,
Like getting anxiety of having to get into a 110 degree porta-john to ***.

Think of the *****,
The hobo,
The Great American Travlin' Man,
Seeing the sights,
The great spans of this weird and wonderful county,
Taking in places that will never be seen by you or me.

We look down upon them,
Or with indifference,
Content with our homes, cars, and jobs,
But consider this you,
With these things would we really be considered free?

Chained by loans,
By the banks,
By a mortgage or three?
Who's more at liberty,
Us or the ***** travlin' the street?

Time ticking down,
Like the guttering of a dying flame,
So close,
Can nearly taste,
Where you and me will soon be three,
When our son we can finally meet.

I can picture his little hands,
His oh-so little feet,
Eyes as big as plates,
So filled with possibilities and innocence,
A pitcher for you and me to fill,
With kindness and glee.

But it seems so far away,
Still seems like a bit of a dream,
That the hypothetical seems to still carry me,
On a cloud,
Gently floating,
On an azure dream.

Gentle strings,
Gently lull me to sleep,
Keep me in that gradient that leads to the dreamland,
To where I can find that so-great peace.

Where my greatest stories come forth,
That trial run of the final rest,
Where all men are equal,
Whether a pauper or a prince.

Chase you I will,
With fervor and intensity,
Till I'm out of breath and full of ease,
Squeaking like a piece of machinery,
In desperate need of grease.

Take pity on me,
And take my soul to the most peaceful of place,
Where my aches are gone,
My woes are arrested,
And my worries are at ease.

Pardon me stranger,
Could I have a moment of your time?
Are you available to give to me,
A smidge of your mind?

I can see the ashes in your eye,
Grey and flaking out as you blink,
Falling like gentle snow,
Small puffs as they hit the ground,
Leaving a gentle trail in your wake.

The gentle sounds of a crackling fire following you,
Each and every step,
Much akin to the crinkling of a pop can,
A bittersweet reminder of the things you've had to take.

The scent that wafts from you,
The smell of charred oak,
That oh-so unique sensation,
Of destruction, or something that was used to create?

That warmth that seems to emanate from your very soul.
Seeping into everyone that you pass,
The dying gasps of a forest fire?
Or of a carefully tended campfire,
To fend off a winter's cold embrace?

So if you can,
Kind stranger,
A piece is all I ask,
So that I may see,
So that I may partake.

Give me a minute,
And I will make it worth an hour,
An hour,
I will make it worth a year,
A year,
Well....
Let's take that minute and you will see.

Rapid fire like a Lewis Gun,
Rattle and shake like a can of spray paint,
So nervous you can clearly see,
A golden chance I don't want to squander,
A chance that won't repeat.

Fit to burst with ideas and dreams,
Too many for me to speak,
One HAS to stick,
Just HAS TO,
I CAN'T FAIL TO SPEAK.

Fifteen seconds to go,
Where did the time fly?
Please don't see me as mud beneath your feet,
Give me this chance and you will see,
That this is an easily fulfilled dream.

DING

You get out,
Something I'm sure that you're glad to hear and see,
But as you get out you ask for my number,
And that maybe we'll speak

Clocking in,
Trudging on,
Grinding the nose down to the bone,
Clock out,
Et cetera,
Ad Nauseam,
Goes the routine of the last of the Blue-Collar poets.

Can't think of words,
Too dog-tired to think of rhyming schemes,
Too sore for clever entendres,
Too broke to focus on fixing verses, stanzas, and metrics.

Thinking of the too-long day,
And the too-long day to come,
Fighting for a long shot of a good-night's sleep,
For a glimmer of a decent day off,
Clawing for a decent day's pay.

Sweeping up the metal shavings,
Spattered with hot, hot grease,
Bones broken by falling boxes,
Maimed by unsafe machines.

Keep the Blue-Collar poet in mind,
As you operate your computers,
Sitting in your White-Collar dream,
For their fledging numbers dwindle,
That will never get the chance at your dream

Tell me my love,
What is it you need me to be?

Am I to be a shining knight?
Slay the dragon,
Climb the tower,
Defeat the evil king with my might?

Do you need the gentle giant,
A gorilla in the mist,
Some juxtaposition of size and timidity,
A stalwart wall of muscle that is oh-so reliant?

Shall I be an old-time Cowboy,
The Marlboro Man made flesh,
With those predator/prey eyes that scan the horizon,
Shaded from the sun with a hat made of corduroy.

Or maybe I should just stay me,
The man that is always there for you,
The joking friend that is your favorite person,
The one that makes you feel oh so free.

Dance on the edge,
Between great success and ruin,
Flip the coin and see which way it lands.

Curry favor with the despot king,
A loaded ace to keep in your sleeve,
And smile a wicked grin.

Do you see the Saint Elmo's fire?
Gathering on the masts of the ships of our lives?
The potential energy for greatness at the very tops?

Tear on down the street,
Tear on down the lane,
Tear on down to the great avenue that is this human experience of ours.

Carry through the light of the pines,
Where the fog drifts gently,
Where the birds pleasantly sing.
Where the strangers are kind,
Dress strangely,
So different from these car-choked streets,
And nobody knows anybody else's names,
Where the waitresses don't know your usual,
And the coffee tastes like burnt beans.

Where the Friday night football is a family event,
Even if the rugrats aren't in high school yet,
Where the number of trucks outnumber the cars,
And the rust spots adorn the bodies like badges on a decorated soldier,
And the mud is still spattered on the sides.

You share with me your memories,
Of places I've never been,
Sharing experiences I've never had,
With people I'll never meet.

I am so grateful that you share them,
They put a pep in my step,
Make me tap my foot,
And make me turn inward,
To the man I wish to be.

Carry me away on gentle guitar pluckin,
And take me to your world,
To where I wouldn't have to be me,
To where I can be the man I wish to be.

Where do these words come from?
Are they from my heart or my brain?
Do the flow forth from some great vault hidden away in my soul,
Or are they plucked freely from the wind?

Where is it that our inspiration comes from,
From the world around us,
Or from within?
Can our natures influence the world around us,
Or is it that nature that influences us?

Running down that gravel road back home,
Spitting rock from my churning feet,
Arms pumping with a determination,
Lungs burning pleasantly like they only do when you're young,
Excitement in a way that is only felt by those under 23.

Lord oh Lord,
Where did the days go?
Carry me back to when I didn't have the knees of a 56-year-old,
Before my metabolism slowed down to a snail's pace,
And I needed to watch my blood pressure and my weight.

Head a-swimmin,
Stomach queasy,
Like asking out your first crush,
Or maybe a beer or 3 too many,
I think back to when I was a teen.

Mediocre rhythms,
Mediocre rhymes,
Where is it this road heads?
Take me to where the Mary Jane grows like dandelions,
Where the magic mushrooms lay thick like a carpet on the floor.

Who gives a **** where the future lay,
20 years down the line,
'Sept what regrets one has about not livin,
Grabbing the tail of the tiger of electronic sonic sound,
Flying through the airwaves so fast it makes your cheeks flap like a 90's cartoon.

BREATH! SCREAM! SHOUT FOR THE LOVE OF ******* GOD!!!
Give it your all and leave your reservations at the wayside,
Cuz we aint stopping to ****.

Spend your nights as an outlaw,
Fly by the seat of your pants,
Give a down-on-his-luck feller the coat off your back,
He sure as hell needs it more,
Curse up a storm,
Yell up to God,
CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW!

Call me manic,
Call me a *******,
Call me a brilliant man,
Carry my cold corpse to a pine box and dump it in,
Cuz I plan on saying ******* to the funeral industry,
Let the worms and the bugs have my bag of meat,
Carry on and sing a song,
Have a shot and chug a beer in my memory,
Sing a drunken song and cheer.

I saw you in the aisle of the supermarket,
And I just realized this is the first time I've thought of you in years,
Like an anchor that was cut loose decades ago discovered by divers,
Covered in barnacles and rust.

I just remembered you still have one of my guitars,
And wonder if you still have that mug we made on one of our dates,
The one you used every morning when we dated,
I wonder if you still drink that horrid tasting tea.

When was the last time you thought about our trip to New York City,
Where we first saw the Statue of Liberty,
Do you remember comforting me at the World Trade Center Memorial,
When I was overcome with melancholy?

But just as quick I saw you,
You disappeared from sight,
Not spotting me in the market crowd,
Going on with your life.

Lips quirk up for a second,
I go back to shopping,
And back on with my life,
Glad with my lot and place,
Hoping that you are too,
And knowing I'll never think of you again.

Thundering onward like a runaway train,
Chugging forward with a cavalcade of machine gun- rapid jolts,
Driving the story forward with irreversible force,
Carrying the message with irrevocable determination.

A parallel path does not make it the same,
For effort is still the cost of progress,
And blood shed must still be extruded as a price in these endeavors.

Fired from that ultrasonic cannon of life,
Flying through that azure sky,
Ripping holes through cotton ball clouds when flying through,
Thrusting forward into that blue unknown.

Why are so many poems sad?
So serious and full of melancholy?
Where are all the poems of puppies and socks fresh out of the dryer,
Those poems that fill you with glee?

I want those rhyming schemes filled with jokes,
That make you want to chuckle and stamp your feet,
That make you feel a bit happier,
That make you feel a bit of cheer.

I know that it all can't be kittens and rainbows,
But can we open the blinds from time to time,
To let natures beauty shine through to you and me?

Bolting upright,
In a valley oh so green,
Adorned in white,
And seeing clouds dot the sky,
I realize with a starling realization,
"Oh ****, I guess I died."

Make my way to the barn I saw,
See a spread on a table 30 foot wide,
I see Jesus with all his fellers,
Laughin' while sippin on wine.

I walk up to the Son,
And ask if I can have a seat,
He gestures to the empty seat to his left,
Apparently, he was waiting for me.

As Jesus laughs at a joke from John the Baptist,
I take a sip from my glass with a trembling hand,
Looking at our savior a gather the gumption to ask him an important question to me.

As he turns to me I feel my stomach drop,
He says,
"Go on my friend and ask."
I say to him,
"Oh Lord, how is it this came to be?"

He ponders this over a bite of trout,
Gesturing me to take a bite of my own.
As I chew on the tender meat he swallows and says.

"My boy, you were a bit gruff,
and crass I may say,
But you believed in me and dispite your rougher edges,
You never lost your faith."

I looked over to James,
Who's talking to Matthew,
Debating the best kind of fly for fishin,
And Jesus continues to me.

"While you stumbled a time or two,
And did some things that made me shake my head,
You did your best to be a better man,
So for that you can join in on this little meal,
and feast here with my friends."

I take in the scene before me,
The surrealness of it all,
And a smile creeps along my face,
But quickly falls with the same pace,
"But what of my family Jesus,
Are they alright after my death?"

He turns to me,
A smile in his eyes,
and lays my concerns at ease.

"They'll grieve you,
and in time they'll just join you here,
But for now let's finish up,
Because Mary makes a mean cobbler"

Snow falling slowly,
Muffling everything in sight,
The flakes like cotton *****,
Softening this morning light.

The wind is calm,
Bringing peace on this lake of ice,
Where down below lies the cold cold depths,
Down below,
Where my demons lie.

Such a juxtaposition,
Heaven and Hell,
Separated by the frozen water of my mind,
Serenity and Perdition,
Eternal reward and punishment,
So close and yet so distantly defined.

I look out upon the valley,
Where we lived out millions of lives,
All of our hopes and heartaches,
Births and deaths,
In that valley of flowers and dreams.

I met you so many times,
And each of those times I was blessed,
For in the few where we never met,
My heart ended up hollow and blank.

We struggled at times,
And sometimes we even failed,
But always together,
Never alone,
Not once adrift upon a sea of regrets.

You bolstered me in my aspirations,
Gave me courage and strength I knew not,
To conquer the mountains that seemed so insurmountable,
Where angels and demons were hesitant to trod.

Each of your deaths were a knife in my heart,
In those instances where I outlived you,
I broke into a million jagged pieces,
Lost without my guiding star.

But each time I would be able to slowly heal,
Brought back together by your future love.

I know not if we've done this countless times before,
Or if we will be able to have this countless times again,
But regardless of this,
Our lives shall be forever intertwined,
In the Valley of Flowers and Dreams...

You look at me,
Reading my face like a book,
When I think it is as solid as a tree,
You pour over the lines and crags like a Rosetta Stone,
Deciphering what I feel in my very bones.

It is alarming,
To have someone who gets so easily through my walls,
So carefully erected over the years,
But alarm is quickly followed by joy,
To have you in my inner bastion,
To assuage my worries and fears.

I don't think I'll ever quite get over the feeling,
That I don't ever deserve someone as good as you,
But in time I hope,
With care and shared memories,
That it will lessen and become an appreciation of something new.

Looking to the western sky that's aflame
With oranges, reds, and yellows
Highlighting and sharpening the clouds
Making them look like plumes of smoke from a forest fire
That is burning so far away

Later on the reds turn to purples
Losing the battle to the unstoppable night
Cooling in the dark of the wolfs muse
That howling place they rule with all their might

Blues lose out to the black
Deep and oh so dark
Quiet like some great predator
Rule absolute and oh so great
Giving out its boon to the animals of its domain
That will rule until the coming light

Sitting in my bedroom,
That's become more of a waystation than a home,
For home to me is wherever you will be,
Zach Bryan crackles out the words I know I will think of,
When I am 20 years older,
And our son has left behind our home.

A traveler on his own journey,
Embarking to his own destination,
In time making his own mistakes,
But in them learning his own lessons,
And from that his own wisdom will be gained.

He will visit,
I know,
Although his first couple of visits will be too few and far between,
It will make you teary,
But knowing that it needs to happen all the same.

Those days to come seem so far away now,
Yet so close all the same,
But I know that we will eventually come to love every minute of it,
And wish we could live through it all again.

Do you remember?
When we laughed so hard,
That I lost a contact?
That little jig you did started me chuckling,
My snorts got you to join in,
My ribs hurt the next day.

Do you remember?
When I told you that I first loved you,
And you kept me in suspense?
Later on, you told me that you felt the same when I said it,
But was scared that it was too soon for you to vocalize it too,
But to be honest I wanted to tell you on our second date.

Do you remember?
When you first seemed to read my mind,
And told me exactly what was going on in my brain?
I was furious with your father,
And I wanted to snap him in two,
You just looked at me with your hypnotic green eyes,
And told me to breath,
Rubbing my shoulders as you did so.

Do you remember?
That first pregnancy scare,
Where we didn't know what we were going to do?
We were in your car,
Outside that convention we were volunteering at,
And that talk laid the groundwork for what we would eventually have to go through.

Do you remember?
Our first kiss,
Upon that restaurant roof?
Slow dancing to Tyler Childers,
Playing through the tinny speakers of a phone,
On that warm sunny day in June.

I think back to 5 years ago,
To those days in northern New York,
Where my life felt like some coming-of-age tale,
Coming into my own.

Each day was its own chapter,
Shenanigans and hijinks,
Bar room brawls and short-lived loves,
Drunken tattoos and crutching on snow 2 feet deep,
Barracks parties and field exercise tomfoolery,
Oh, how it all seems like such a dream now.

Fleeing from authorities,
Cackling with buddies as we disappeared into the crowd to make it to the next bar,
Showing up to work on Monday with a recently broken nose, blackened eye, and ****-eating grin,
With my buddies sporting similar signs,
Our First Sergeant taking stock of these injuries,
And walking onward with a little smirk.

Walking through Watertown,
Feeling the age of that military town,
Filled with secondhand stores and oddities,
My God such a surreal dream.

Stuck in bed,
Knee wrapped up in bandages,
Protecting all the stitches beneath,
Looking out the winter at the blizzard outside,
Craving a working leg more than the percocet,
And knowing that the dream was coming to an end.

Calm hearts,
And charitable minds,
All my thoughts are shattered glass,
At such a moment and time.

Where I feel like I need to shout at the top of my lungs,
Veins in my forehead bulging,
Face scrunched up,
A roar akin to some great wounded animal,
One who has some wicked spear in its side.

But it is not out of anger, pain, or pride,
Instead, it is from all the energy still in my body,
Begging to be let out.

A tiger in a cage,
Who paces from side to side,
The tiger that knew of the wild before,
Who wishes to get back to the jungle,
But not knowing it will ever get out.

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