Never quite content alone,
Never at home in a crowd.
Silence frightens us, and
So does being loud.
Never here nor there, but
Discontent in the present.
Longing for the past,
We crave a different future.

some will win
some will lose
who gets the choice
in the chance to choose
could be me
could be you
all depends
on what we do

we move along
this beaten path
some have more
some much less
some peoples needs
are never met
all depends
on where you're at

so easily
we lose count
some are in
others out
makes you wonder
what it's all about
all depends
on how it all works out

The shooter seems willing to speak…
- I was lied to. I was good for nothin'
sure, as a young rapscallion's apprentice, why
who would not be mad, upon learning of the ways
bank's means support the boys being used as mercenaries,
- and yeah,
what a wonderful thing compounded confounding interests
seem, gee, America was great,
for some people, all the time,
sorted ones, picked for preparation,
smart kid, we can use such, prepared,
liberally educated and earnestly able,
to make a plan, write a thesis, daily table,
to change a plan into a scheme, ability
imbued with a curious charisma, they say,

so full of his personality, like Donald,
Goofy and Minnie both nod, ****,
did you vote for Al Smith, back then,
when America was great, and fortunes
was made selling Bridges in Brooklyn,
?
time and again, its like we was there,
East end, West end, all around the town,
but, at the movies,
in little dark structures serving ancient needs,
hands could be held, and, dare we, yes, yes,
all the way, America wins the America's Cup,
a true, real deal feel we are in that Spirit,
riding wind under the Oracle banner,
winning America's cup, for spreadsheet people.
- everyday folks who watch old movies on TV.
- And the folks who make those movies for you.

Those are the teams, eh, the people versus the people.
Spy vs. Spy, yes … Mad, Al Smith, and Alfred E. Neuman,
Barak, atar adonai ai ai ai, did I not
warn you,
allusions to Jeopardy questions evoke immediate inssi-der
we won. Not ironically, sublimely subtleeeeeeeeeee

Something t's me off, I swing. Killer instinct. Gut reacts.
Spirituality is gaseous, mystical, like swamp gas,
but in your belly, burning, below the bosum.

You have had this problem
From your days of youth
Strength adds up to nothing
When desire has hold of you

You might go a month or more
More like a day or two
Before that knock comes at your door
And the devil's drink makes its move

Where it lands in shaky hands
Bringing comfort to your lips
You once again give in to its demands
As it foils your plans to one day quit

But until you hit rock bottom
In utter shame you'll raise the glass
Your demons you have fought them
But never hard enough to win the quest

And yet you still make promises
To yourself and those you love
But if you were really serious
For yourself and them, you'd give it up

But the problem isn't in the drink
It's deep inside your soul
And until you learn to master it
It'll never let you go

So, you reach out for the bottle
Where you find, you both are drained
The hope you had has gone stage left
As the devil's drink again makes its demands

Reaching this bend in the road and
looking back, it's hard to see where
I've been. With no hesitation felt,  
continuing on is all that matters
and remains.

Our journeys never really end, even
death is but another bend in the road.

There wasn't supposed to be a clock shop there.

Deep inside the lane and away from the bustle
the door quietly opened to the world of time.

World of Time, yes, that was the name of the shop
though it resembled more a curio shop
with the man at the counter as antique
as the time long flown away.

I want a clock to gift to somebody,
said I, amid the chiming and ticking
that if listened to for long, I was sure
would lull even the alert into sleep.

Thanks for stepping in, said the man,
with a hint of smile passing across his face,
nobody cares for time anymore, it's banished,
but for the connoisseurs still enchanted by
the melodious rhyme of swinging pendulum,
a midnight music, half listened in dream.

There's the clock chiming hourly music,
the man pointed, big but worth having,
obviously a misfit in the shrinking space,
but I say, don't compress all into small,
like say, he smiled, love and heart.

He set the music on
and slowly everything melted
from before my eyes...

I was carried home from the pavement
and some days later I returned.

World of Time, an old man recollected,
was wound up long time back.