Standing vigil,
As winter gets in one last blow,
It's like falling,
Landing deep in some cold ocean below.

It's impossible to breath,
Struggling to the surface,
The arctic currents ripping all heat away,
Like it was the wind itself.

Breaking the surface,
Battered by waves,
The ocean spray stinging face and arm,
Dark tidal currents swirling below.

Grey clouds circling overhead,
Like the sharks most assuredly circling down below,
Both curious yet extremely dangerous,
A covergency by either would spell ruin and woe.

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.

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.

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

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?)

I never wanted him,
And I swore I never wanted him,
But the time he approached me about moving  in was the second I just didn't care.

At first it was awesome,
An exciting time,
Doing something not cookie cutter and certainly not something I'd do if I was in any sort of right mind.

And for a time it was great.

The curtains finally seemed to be drawn away,
But little did I know all I was doing was putting on blinders,
When I thought I was exploring the new and adventurous,
I was rooting through the dark and the dangerous.

The roommate turned out to be a creature,
A monster in sheep's clothing,
And he was in the middle of the flock.

I think I ridded myself of him,
Though he is always knocking on my door,
I made the mistake of letting him back in once,
Something I'll never repeat again.

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...

Sitting here on this mountaintop porch,
Staring out into the valley lit by moon and stars,
Johnny Cash can be heard riding a locomotive of Nashville acoustics.

The Valley looks like it belongs on an alien world,
Bathed in blues, greys, and blacks,
Unique to these southern nights,
Upon vast forests that are both awake and alive.

Cash sings of retribution and redemption,
Upon the coming of the end,
A tune too sad for such a beautiful scene,
The song is changed

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.

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

Words hammering upon steel hoods,
Disappearing as fast as it appears,
Partially hollow yet oh-so full.

A good company of souls,
Filling an empty bowl,
Their stories and discussions filling it in a steady warm flow,
Filling it to the brim,
Overflowing,
A great quenching for my dehydrated trim.

Where can we go?
In this summer rain laden land,
What shall we see?
Untold relics of a forgotten state,
That ended in a flame wreathed wreck.
What can we hear?
The passing winds that are whisper-gentle.

Cruising through The Great Plains,
In a well traveled and well loved hatchback,
The calm rhythm of folk acoustics follow the gentle sloping motions the land takes as they travel
Clusters of trees off in the distance,
Looking like tidal waves in the evening sky,
Looking almost dark blue under a cloud filled sky,
Forming an ocean all their own.

Skimming down the road,
Fingers embraced by the passing wind,
Trying to race to the western promises.

Passing into lands previously untravelled,
Towards the glow emenating from those golden opportunities,
Almost as if taking flight towards the stark blue horizon.

Not long to go,
Just a push and a plunge,
A great fall to the left on the map.

In search of a better future,
As great plains are traversed,
The beacon of answers to great questions lay ahead.

Skimming down the road,
Fingers embraced by the passing wind,
Trying to outrace the eastern storm.

Lessons in the trunk,
A case of tenacity in the passenger seat,
Goals hogging the back seat.

The wind tussling hair as it passes,
A gentle greeting as the countryside opens up,
The air clearer with every mile.

Everything seeming sharper,
Like a previously unknown haze being pulled from the eyes,
Colors vibrant and new.

Skimming down the road,
Fingers embraced by the passing wind,
Chasing the setting sun and running from the night.

Looking at the fully filled in page,
A good poem,
Sure to trend within minutes.
It just feels right.

A pause,
A half smile,
As the small X on the upper right hand of the window is clicked,
And the profile page is brought back up once again.

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?

A ring of flaked green surrounded by an ocean of blueish grey,
Pupils like a lake,
You could almost see the thoughts like fish,
Swimming around just below the surface,
Their outlines making the lake glimmer in the light of the sun.

The same four notes haunt me,
Like the ghosts lost to the sea,
             Da
                                        Dah
                  ­  Doo
***            

Floyd flexing their synth might,
Their system tried and true,
Music to get lost in space to,
At least until I hit the Darkside of the Moon.

Where would you be,
If you were the perfect you that you could be for a day?
What would you do?

Would you try and give your life the theoretical "boost" so to speak?
Maybe by getting ahead of a backlog you've been trying to get past at work,
Or by making an important life choice.

Maybe you'd go and try something new,
To see the viability of possible choices.

Or maybe you'd not change a thing,
For you've been the best you that you could be the whole time.

As time went on,
The days grew long,
And the struggle for The Frontman grew ever greater.

Feeling adrift in time,
Without a map or compass,
The spider ensnared him further still.

It whispered wicked things,
Full of malice and hate,
Corrupting the Frontman wings,
A cruel arrow shot through him by fate,
A great gift tainted by the spiders poison.

Like a volcano that lay dormant,
For so long it seemed almost forgot,
But after too long it exploded,
The target of it all were those that were adorant,
Tearing asunder all that it sought.

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.