Over weeks and months
and fleeting years, my
chaos became a cozy
blanket to cover winters
of thinking, and reading.

And of course living.

I wish the story could be told;
and more so could be told by me
with smells and views and
hints of what was heard
and said and softer said.

But the wish and the truth and
the fear of the lies are attached
and afloat in my heedless head
as I walk along the platform line.
The yellow line. The danger line.

And Yes you know the fear out here
and No you can't be seen out here,
but that is why I must be here.
Even ignored like the twitter
trends of the mindless mass.

Here I fear the worst of all.

I fear it never happened at all.

Not at all.

But it did.

This road trip of mine
has run out of gas
and of guts and if there
ever was any glory it
would be running from
the house right now.

But there was none
and none has passed
to stop and ask and
fill the can of worms
one last time before
we ask with dread:

Isn't this enough now?

I stand up straight,
just like she taught me.

I'm calm.

Collected.

But the table ahead is
hurtling through space,
a thousand miles to
the tick of a clock.

And the tick crawls
slow and alone through
the hairy forest. Oblivious
to the car chase ahead.

I turn the glass upside down
and pour the Cabernet.

Oaky flavours spill to the
floor and consume my world.

At first they were dreams.
Dragons in the night.
Dreams of who I could be.
Slayers in the night.
Dreams of where I could be.
Battles in the night.
Dreams with whom I could be.
The American Dream.

At the wake I saw the way.
Struggles in the light.
The man I need to be.
A fighter for what is right.
The roads I need to see.
A pass, rough in the light.
With whom I need to be.
My American Dream.

The pass lay steep. In wait.
But I flipped the switch and
Stared to screen. Screens of
Dreams. Screens of screams.
Screens for the Hollow Men.
Yup, Mistah Kurtz he dead.
But sure I saved before?
Where was I before?

Opinion of my own?
Oh no.
Goals of my own?
So so..
Achievements of my own?
Oh dear god, no!
But I had a dream of my own.
And then I let it go.

Between the conception
And the creation,
Between the emotion
And the response,
Falls the Shadow.
This is the way my dreams end.
This is the way my dreams end.
This is the way my dreams end.

Between my dreams
And no creation,
Between my jealousy
And the flat screen,
Falls the Shadow.
This is the way my dreams end.
This is the way my dreams end.
Not with a bang but a whimper.

"To arms", screamed he
who crowned himself
as chief in charge;
conscience-corporal to
the slain virtue in me.
To arms? TO ARMS?!

"TO ARMS" spewed he
and forth they came in
reckless droves they
pushed and passed
with fists and lies
and cut-throat eyes.

But early hope did
now subside. "To death",
I thought and mopped as
best my hands could
care at blood and guts
beyond repair.

We're locked in place
with twisting tides
that drift the lines
of wrong and right.
With curse and scream
in vain we fight.