It feels like I’m speeding,
things are going way too fast.
I need to slow it down a bit
and make the good things last.
From one day to the next
its almost a blur.
Gotta tap on the brakes
or I’ll miss that next curve.
If I find another hill to climb
that just might work.
My motor's in overdrive,
all systems on high alert.

But that’s life they say
when you’re traveling downhill,
with a tailwind behind you
caught up with a full sail.
If I could just ease off
maybe time would slow down.
I’d like to try all over again
and go another round.
I’d do it different this time
and savor the sweet things,
toss my cares away with a fling,
hear the bells go ting-a-ling.

Don’t let this bring you down
'cause I am a happy soul.
I’ve been put through the grinder
and I still came out whole.
It's enough to know that I’m happy
and filling someone else’s heart.
Think of me with a smile, not sadly,
when the time comes that I must part.
Yes, it’ll happen one day
I know that for sure,
now from here on out and to the end,
it’ll be just a blur.

One, two, three, four...
The dream shakes you down to your core.
Eyes open, breath in breath out, jerky.
Panic attack, heart thumping, sweaty.
Reach out .. bottle, pills, water.
Feel the lorazepam flying through your veins.
It’s not the same, no not the same...

It takes a few minutes for the calming effect
to convince me it was just a nightmare.
The same dream I’ve had for two years.
It visits me regularly like an old friend, but not friendly.
I try to sleep, cloak myself with the dark of night
that blankets me like a layer of comfort, a soothing.
I exhale, feel my breath rush out, relieving my fright.
I imagine a creak on the stair, was it real ?
Panic rises again.
I’m alone.
He’s here !

If it weren’t for the drugs,
I'd scream until the windows shattered.

Wait...it's  just the cat.

It was about a quarter to dawn.
A thin slice of moon still hung in the sky.
Another day, another battle.
It seems to be a constant struggle.
A thin line of red marked his chin.
A piece of tissue stuck on the stubble,
like a white flag of surrender.
Give up, some times you just can’t win.
Eggs, coffee, bagel toasted light.
He gets a kiss on the way out.
Enjoy your day, she says, I’ll see you tonight.

Up in the next town
the driver starts the mighty diesel,
his load ready for a long trip.
The roar of the engine
takes him on to the highway,
merging with other nameless faces,
aglow by the dim light of their phones,
heading off into oblivion and other places.

It starts to snow, a spec at first.
Then lit by his headlights, it appears
like heavy drops of white lace.
Hypnotic as it falls lightly then with force, strong.
The sun breaking through a ribbon of blue black clouds.
A crack of yellow white stabs the lingering night. Dawn.

10 miles in, he rubs the red line on his chin.
Radio's up, talk is cheap, he likes the light banter.
Thankfully traffic's light, it's Wednesday
in the middle of nowhere.
Meetings scheduled, a full day's agenda.
He barely saw the deer as it flew over his fender.

From the opposite direction
the trucker bore down, intent on his load.
The fog on his windshield grudgingly offered a view
of the snow coated, still dark road.

With a maddening squeal, the air brakes caught hold.
The trailer sashayed like a dreamy teenaged girl
dancing to a slow country song.
Sliding ever faster, moving along
the ice unforgiving in that bitter cold.
Closer to the middle and then into the oncoming lane,
the talk show host continued his political refrains.

The two collided like fate had planned
from the very moment that time began.
The meetings would be cancelled, the future unsure.
They would both survive, the semi driver and he,
with the cut on his chin forgotten, the past now a blur.

Live for the moment they say, love for eternity.
Plan for regrets, for there’s no assurance, no certainty.
Your day may not end as you would have planned,
for we are all surely in God's hands.

It’s been years since you’ve left,
I feel that I’ve been able to move on
but the phantom pain in my chest
reminds me that you are truly gone.
I must admit I’ve missed you
even more than I can bear.
Like when I walk into your old room,
do I imagine your scent still in the air ?
I’ve finally boxed all your clothes,
I plan to drop them off today.
They are the last vestiges of you,
the physical remnants of your time here.
And it takes all I can do
to not feel so bereft and alone,
but the phantom pain in my chest
reminds me you’re truly gone.

It’s a typical gloomy Seattle day
Not quite rainy, the sky a sooty, pearly haze.
At least it’s not the cold
that bites into bones
now weakened from age,
seven decades all told.

He walked along the streets cluttered
with tents and blue tarp,
belongings in grocery carts,
life on the run.
"Where did they come from ?", he thought.
They couldn’t have started like this.
That woman there with dull and silvered, matted hair.
Was she once a lovely miss ?
She’s given up or has lost hope,
maybe into drugs, going down a slippery *****.

It’s a compelling urge for him to help.
Something basic in human nature
to give directions to someone lost.
A bit of his time and maybe a fiver.
What would it cost to buy her a meal
A burger, some fries...not a big deal.

It would make me feel better, he thinks.
She looks up at him now,
staring blankly, doesn’t even blink.
He doesn’t even feel the cold steel
that slips into his side.
The woman’s mate grunts as he collects the blade,
not caring what damage was made,
but quickly searching for something of worth
from the stranger who invaded their turf.

It’s a typical gloomy Seattle day
Not quite rainy, the sky a sooty, pearly haze.

If we could do  no wrong,
there would be no virtue in doing right.
In a world without pain,
there would not be compassion.
If we had no troubles to face,
there would not be a need for love.
In a world with no future,
there would be no children.
But there are all those things
and that is life.
And we must choose the good,
for that is the hardest choice.

There was a man who lived in the Thirties.
He claimed he had lost all he had to attorneys
due to a bitter fight with a long gone ex
who caught him chasing women and having ***.
He had to hightail it outta town overnight.
Figured it was that or to stick around and fight.

So he rode the rails from town to town,
never staying long enough to settle down.
He was what they used to call back then, a hobo.
Not quite a *** but certainly low brow.

It was a hot summer's day down in San Berdoo
(that’s San Bernadino to you)
He walked down a backstreet,  just one of a few
like others with packs on their backs
looking for work - maybe hire on with a road crew.

He spotted a pug-nosed, three-legged dog
that tailed him for at least two blocks.
A curious little thing that shuffled when it walked.
Thinking it was lost or far from its home,
the owner not aware it might have been gone,
he filled a pan of water for the dog to drink.
It gave him pause to stop and think.

What was the story of this deformed pup ?
How had it lost its leg and wound up
roaming the streets scavenging for a bite to eat ?
Just about then, the man thought he heard a voice
come out from that pug-nose's throat.
"I’ve got a secret to share", it said, more like a boast.
The man could not believe his ears.
A talking dog, he thought.
I’m done for....I’m toast !