Couldn’t be found anywhere else.
The coast is home now.
A door closed on what used to be.
Dramatic moves, all for something new.
In hopes of far-fetched ideals.
Three years later,
A picture perfect realization;
This life is mine.
I get to choose.
Adding value, welcome.
Adding pain, dismissed.
It is dismissed.
All is left behind,
Down by the water.

Time for something drastic.
Defining life on his own terms.
No angels. No demons.
No expectations. Just drift.
North to South.

Walk while the coast heals wounds.
The sea breeze renews.
Salt in the air acts like a baptism.
Sins of the self washed away.
North to South.

To be alone. To think. To reinvent.
Depending on oneself.
Food, water, and survival with these two hands.
Not needing much more than that.
North to South.

Not the destination.
More the journey.
Replenished.
From here, sorting life out.
North to South.

Unmotivated due to a lack of emotional connection.
Just a name in the crowd.
Simply, a paycheck.
Not where he saw himself at 30.
Delusions of grandeur.
Perhaps, a life wasted.
Daily, compared to the best face of others.
He is down and out.

Will he rise again?
The spark struck.
Someone to look up to.
Life altering work.
Fulfilling teenage dreams.
Best of self.
Lives changed.
No need for the contrast.
He is standing tall.

Huddled masses longing to be free.

Each name has a story.

More than populace. They represent something.

Where they call home is a representation of who they are.

Their fears. Their worries. Their struggles.

Their hopes. Their values. Their triumphs.



Cities as collectives.

More than high rises, honking horns, and busy people.

In them, is a movement.

They are changing. They are evolving. They are new.

Trying to make a mark on the place they call home.

Attempting to allow the exchange of impact.



Our time is too short.

The possible experiences to he had are vast.

We are measured by our faith, love, and devotion.

We are also shaped by the place we call home.

It is much more than a city.

We are much more than just a name.

Corner coffee shop.
The world shoulders by.
The challenges of the day are on their minds.
Collectively, they struggle.
All are trying to find a place in this world.

Some seem consumed with God.
Others do not.
It is hard to tell the difference.
And that’s fine for these people by the lake.
Collectively, they struggle.
All are trying to find a place in this world.

When keeping Chicago,
You’re forced out of a comfort zone.
People, places and things; all new.
They are a lesson to be learned.
Collectively, they struggle.
All are trying to find a place in this world.

The devil and angel on my opposing shoulders have departed.
Staring into a bathroom mirror, I wonder what went wrong.
Happiness. Satisfaction. Triumph.
Pain. Misery. Alone.
How did we get back here?

This bathroom mirror has dealt with us before.
It is not kind.
Spinning wild tales and half-truths,
It becomes nearly impossible to wipe away the lies.
Yet, you can’t help but wonder;
How did we get back here?

This life is a blur.
It escapes the room like air from the mouths of those locked in debate.
You can’t help but wonder;
Am I to do this alone?
The end may already be known to me.

It is just a relationship.
To some, it is worthy of hell.
Full of kisses, hand holding and disagreements.
The lowest form of sin.
It will grow, blossom and mature.
For it, the wages equal damnation.
Yet, I am the anchor.

It began so innocently.
Yet, we will die persecuted.
In a very modern way…
Born to a society worshipping ancient text.
A love like any other.
A love not meant for the respect of law.
Yet, I am the anchor.

Maybe marriage.
Unholy.
Maybe kids.
Be ******.
Growing old.
Sinning the whole time.
Yet, I am the anchor.