Nomad

Nomad May 2014

To you?

What is she to you?
Another body?
Another Tool?
You broke her once,
and never again,
you took her heart,
and smashed it to pieces,
you tore her to shreds
corrupted her meekness.

Look at what you've done,
you two-faced liar,
you're on the next high
just trying to get one step higher.

Look at yourself, you ***** piece of trash,
everything you say or do,
is all in a rush,
and all rather rash.

I'm not perfect,
but God forbid should I strike a woman for the moment,
cause when the law catches up,
it'll be time to confess your sins,
and confess to own it.

What have you done?!
What has she to you,
that you had to commit,
to say it led to what you said you had to do.

Why?
What was she to you?

Uh. Came out of no where.

Nomad May 2014

Her Hands

Her hands
they move me
to places where I've never been,
she's the one that led me to her house
then she let me in.

She sat me down,
still holding my hand,
there we were in on the carpet,
asking me to help her with the lemonade stand.

We were so young
and she still held my hand,
we were friends, but a little more,
we didn't know, but didn't need to understand.

Her gentle hands traced over mine,
massaging them ever so carefully,
the first time I had that job,
and my hands had bled,
she took care of me.

With her hands.

The first, second, and few other times,
I got into a fight,
because I stood up,
for something right.
She cried, and buried her face with her hands,
and the tears slipped through the cracks,
pouring out like rain, but slipping faster than sand.

Her hands had always done good by me,
so much more
much more than I could see.

The way she stroked
the stubble of my chin,
the way she graces me with her hands,
before letting sleep fall on me and win.

She is much more than her hands even describe,
I'll ignore you're comment, and accept the banter.
I'll accept the lashings and ignore the ranter,
if only for her sake
for the hands she holds out,
the offer that only
only a fool would not take.

Her hands are mine,
and my only saving grace.

Nomad May 2014

To Me

She is
the world,
mine,
my everything.
From everything I do
say,
think
and in my very breath.

She's there
for me
Unto
even.
My eventual death.

She. Is mine.
To hold and cherish,
since I first stepped up to her maroon red door,
to the ring of promise upon her finger,
a promise to hold her,
and only her,
today
tomorrow
and forever more.

She is,
the girl I've known for too many years,
but not enough yet,
she is the one,
that I've had my heart set
for.

She is the young lady I knew
since she and I
had went to school.
She sat in every single one of my classes,
funny how that happens,
and how she makes the time worth stretching,
as the hour signals as it passes.

The hours becomes days,
days weeks, weeks, months into years for me,
but with her, I don't care,
I'm with her, and she with me,
even unto eternity.

The Lord has blessed us with such a fantastic view,
and we always be sure
that He gets His due,
though we could never thank him enough,
for sticking us together,
even through the rough.

To me, she is
my all in all,
my everything,
she's the one
that I gave...
I gave my ring.

I love her
and always have,
always will,
even when
the world shall
forever stand
still.

Still she is to me,
mine.

Nomad May 2014

What You Wanted

What you wanted
was what you wanted to do
regardless the cost
of what it cost you.

You charged on ahead,
full throttle
no brakes
you never looked back
no pause for second takes.

You wanted what you did
before you knew what it was,
you fooled no one, not even a kid.
And before you knew, it all had pass by,
only a buzz.

You past by those who had come to warn you,
of the dangers you would face,
but you left them behind,
all without a trace.

You mistook them for agitators, hoping to slow you down,
in a sense you were right,
but they were trying to get you to turn around.

And now you're here broken and confused,
you lie there on the cold hard ground,
misguided
abused.

What you wanted,
wasn't what you needed,
when It should've been all the warning signs
of danger
that you should have heeded.

Now you know, that
what you wanted was not the way,
so now is time to make the change.
Make the change to-day.

What you wanted, isn't what you needed,
so get off your high horse,
and don't be conceited.

Nomad May 2014

Her Words

Her words are
fluid, graceful, beautiful,
teasing, mean, sincere
generous, and sweet to hear.

This and many more is why I hold her
so dear.

Her words remind me that it's not all that bad,
she's my happy little chipmunk when I feel sad.
She's got me wrapped around her fingers, when she plays her game,
but I don't care, because she makes me smile
just to say her name.

Her words her words
are smokey at best,
but Lord when she sings,
she's the person that holds my head whilst I rest.

Lord let her stay
forever and a day,
Lord let her stay a while with this ol' boy,
let time go ever so slowly,
before I have to...
have to...
deploy.

I'll miss her words.
Her sweet words in my ear,
because she's the only person in this world
in this world I'll ever hold dear.

I'll come back, no matter the cost,
to hear her words again,
even if everything else is lost.
Lord grant me this,
another day with her,
another day with her words
whispering innocence.

I'll miss her words.

Nomad May 2014

Pictures

Taking Pictures
SNAP
is all i've ever done,
taking pictures
FLASH
of everyone.

Private eye,
detective on scene,
CLICK
I flash the badge
and they all know
SNAP
just what I mean.

Pictures,
say a thousand words,
but not a single one
could describe the ones
that I've heard.

It's deeper than a thousand words,
even altogether,
it's more I iconic than anything,
heck it probably does one better.

It's a precious little memory,
of the time before,
it's to delay my forgetfulness,
if only for just a second more.

How old we've become,
that we need a reminder here or there,
how our mind tricks us some times,
and we look at someone familiar,
but all we are is confused, so we stare.

But a picture might help,
clear away the fog,
it's better than a journal,
and more loyal than a dog.

The pictures should have meaning,
all in its natural beauty,
you the taker,
have a rather solemn duty.

To preserve in history,
this moment in time,
where there is no reason,
there is no rhyme.
There simply is
that moment, the now
it really doesn't matter
matter how.
But let it happen
as it happens to be,
and maybe you'll remember
to jog your memory.

Pictures
let the cameras shutter and shake,
but thank God for these little things,
that we can even take
a small piece
of our memories.

Pictures.

Nomad May 2014

Miles and Miles To Go

Miles and Miles to go,
that's how far I must treck
through rain, hail, sun, and snow
still yet I have
Miles and Miles to go.

Miles and Miles to go,
where I will stop,
when will I end,
it's not like anybody will know,
when I've yet to travel
Miles and Miles,
Miles to go.

Down this beaten path,
or broken road,
over the hill-tops and mountains,
through yon valleys so deep,
it's the precious little memories of each
of all the people and places
I keep.
Yet I know I'll have more,
with life keeping the better parts in store,
but there's only one way to know for sure,
when I've yet to simply endure,
Miles and Miles To Go.

Trek along, the weary way,
with no place of my own,
not a warm place to stay,
I endure the hardships of the weather,
hoping one day
it'll all be better,
but better land is so far away,
and I've got me mind still sharp and together,
and come the troubles, and come as they may,
I know I'm never alone,
when I travel the road by day.

Miles and Miles to go,
my feet has toughened
harder than boots,
I'm finally going,
the land of my roots.
There's no more place that I'd rather go,
than to the place,
the place I call my home.

To finally feel the warm ground beneath my feet,
to finally feel the comfort,
of the sun's blanketing heat.
To feel the wind as it washes through my hair,
to feel the raindrops on my skin,
like I didn't care.
To smell the dew, in the early morn,
to finally taste, some of that home grown corn.

And yet...
I've a long way to go,
before I finally head home,
still I must travel,
still
I must roam.
For the work is not done,
nor will it ever be,
there's a race to be run,
and I'm not the only one,
with Miles
And Miles
To Go.

Miles And Miles To Go.