I've called this ghost town home for far too long.
Spent my nights drinking with the dead.
Each sip cementing their existence in my head.
Listlessly taking shot after shot.
Whiskey,
the water of life,
commemorates the spirit of the deceased.
One
for those who passed away in peace.
Two
for those taken prematurely.
Toast number three shall be a farewell to me
but I am not ready to no longer
be.

You see,
if I were to dream eternally
and sink deeper down the fiery well,
those infamous nine levels of hell,
I would forge fresh footprints through the ash covered ground.
Walking with boots of compressed gunpowder,
the trail I leave behind is always primed to catch up with me and
spark the time bomb I walk with.
The seconds
tick
tick
tick
away.
The clock is always heading toward zero.
I tried to be a hero for many,
yet couldn't save myself.
My desires put upon a shelf.
A self inflicted penance handed down from the only one
I was foolish enough to call
god.
I am too far gone to be saved.
Grave stones mark the decay of my hopes and dreams.
The etchings on each marble tablet will eventually fade away.
The soil I am to be buried in must be overturned if anything is
to grow where I could not.
Mother nature always finds a way to nurture even the worst of her children.
Like any good matriarch, she refuses to accept anything less than her child's full potential.
Even in death.
Though I refused nourishment and love,
mother earth still holds me close.
Embraces me in a final attempt to squeeze the last drops of good which
were buried deep and thought to be dried long ago.

Ignoring her guidance, I've lived as if I would never end up six feet.
Deep were my thoughts,
dangerous my actions.
Though I lived as if I couldn't be defeated,
my first true test comes as I fight for control of my soul.
Angels and devils are now my judges,
each making their case for my demise.
The scales of destiny weigh my past actions.
The outcome holding my future.

So I'll fill my glass one final time,
and toast to those who left before me.
I'm coming home.

He fell 70 feet into a crevasse in Nepal
The amazing American Dr John All
Decided to film his own dying
But decided against and kept trying
This man decided it wasnt his time
And so with broken ribs, broken arm
Started out on his greatest climb
Over six hours on that ice slick wall
Six agonising hours expecting to fall
But John is a man of courage and strength
He kept going on even though he was spent
And so there's a lesson to be be learned by us all
Taught to us by Dr John All
Never give up when you think all is lost
Fight for your life no matter the cost

The battles finally over, the deck is rent and torn
By the shot and shell that struck us in the battle storm
So sew him in his hammock lads, put the last stitch through his nose
Place a roundshot at his feet then over the side he goes
This then is the way we say goodbye to our comrades of the ship
We never knew their real names, maybe Harry Tom or ****
Yes we gave our mate the deep six, he's now six fathoms down
Lying on the bottom on his final resting place the sand
No time yet to ponder on his untimely death
We must make and mend and make our ship the best

That field stone bridge, as bridges do,
Waits over brown waters, joining roads
Where Legions marching, marched on.
Her waters breached the ocean, bringing back
Bottles, birds and songs.

In the morning between the columns,
The water breaks from sloping bends,
But under the evening light, when the house
Across the bank shimmers,
They return, marching, dipping, flowing.

Time and time the ebb and flow disturbs ripples
In my mind.
Reflections change from foundations and windows;
Boots and birds go by with the Usk
To deeper waters.
The same tidal waters.
My time here joins roads with the bridge I walk,
Feeling leather below my knees, as Legions did
Before the dig.
Their shields and spears resting,
They bend over fires
And drink clear water that cleverly flows
In and out beneath the bridge.

These same waters,
Ripe in paradox,
Keep days and nights still;
Where past and now meet
In diurnal echoes.

My ink may run
as black as coal,
as dark as
a dark night
of the soul.

Or flow red hued
like the morning sky;
as red as love,
or red man's blood
on hard-baked clay.

Yellow ink hues
my many suns,
my moons
the color of
dry bone.

Blue-inked waves
may wash my
blues away,
or sing the blues as blue
as muddy waters.

Gray ink clouds
on a fog-shrouded
empty highway
take me from here
to the Blue Ridge
mountains.

White-capped sailors
sail the arctic
as lost as
my white ink
on a blank page.

r ~ 5/13/14

Come morning,
when darkness lifts
its veil of mourning,
the warm sun gifts
her day to praise
with sweet refrain
on a grassy grave
in the mountains.

r ~ 5/10/14

I guess you could call it poetic how by the age of 12 I had no recollection of what happiness tasted like on my tongue. Some would say it was tragically beautiful.
But it was not poetic, nor was it beautiful,  but it was tragic. It was so very, very sad, and that sadness is only doubled now that people see sorrow as glorious.  It is not glorious. It is not strength. It is a lump of iron in your chest and stomach and it eats you from the inside, out and you have no right to think that blood stained wrists are anything other than tragic. So very,  very tragic.

Hey Dad,
It's been some time since we last spoke. I miss you, still. I'm writing to ask that you pass a message on to Mom for me. She never was one for sentimental stuff; but you know that, already.

Tell Mom that she is missed by all of her children; we miss her especially on this, her first Mother's Day away. I will miss not calling or seeing her. I missed sweating over what to get her this year. I miss her voice those times when I just needed to hear it; the first time that Noah had an ear infection, those times that I needed to know what was wrong with my roses. She always seemed to have the right answer no matter what. Just like you.

Tell Mom that I'm doing well. I've stopped drinking. I know she never liked that. Tell her that Noah is graduating from High School next month. You both were always so proud of him. He misses both of you very much. You should see him now, Dad. He's as tall as I am. As tall as you. He has grown into a good man; he is a lot like you in many ways. Noah sends his love to you both.

Well, I just wanted to say hello, and ask that you tell Mom that I love her. Tell her that I understand. It was time. She missed you. You were waiting up in the high pasture for quite awhile.  I'll let you go, now. I know that you two still have a lot of catching up to do.

Hugs to Mom.

                         Love,
                         Rick

r ~ 5/11/14