upon approach he sees a man
with beard of grey and leathered tan
who says come here
and have no fear
i am a mere forsaken man

i am a carter of the wood
whose lived much longer than he should
i travel far
through lands bizarre
by wound and scar i understood

to this the boy a greeting gave
my name is Will and I am brave
it is your whim
should i come in
by discipline i will behave

this made the carter stop and think
he did not breathe he did not blink
two thoughts collide
and then divide
and so decide to cross the brink

since it is cold and wet about
and my fire far from dying out
come sit a spell
and warm ye well
and i will tell a tale of doubt

well to approve the boy does grin
up to the flame to warm his skin
without delay
he does obey
as if to say you can begin

the carter looks about the trail
in hopes to capture each detail
his egos fight
this is not right
and yet, despite, he tells the tale

i’ve traveled all the trails I care
and seen more than I think is fair
i’m growing old
my stories told
but i withhold this that i share

this is a story wrong and true
my time has come to tell it too
its with a sigh
that i must die
as soon as i tell it to you

there is a curse within the tale
the telling of which will unveil
a creature foul
of horrid howl
he’s on the prowl and will not fail

for he comes after those who tell
the tale that always will compel
the hearer who
must tell it too
but when you do he’ll know it well

you see this tale it has been told
by many men of ages old
and they like I
did question why
yet did comply as it is told

so please forgive my desperate soul
impending doom does take its toll
to fate be true
i can but do
one day so you will know its hold

at this the boy did squirm a bit
up to the flame to turn his spit
it’s just a tale
and somewhat stale
sir you will fail to get my wit

it is a tale, yes that is true
but cast no doubt on what i do
undone by hate
I meet my fate
so shall he wait one day for you

i know about an unknown town
that has with some its own renown
such legends hold
since days of old
of a tale that’s told about this town

the tale is of the oral style
passed along through green and guile
he that hears it
ever fears it
yet adheres its cruel revile

around this town, there is a wood
so dark, and deep and long it stood
and there inside
the dark does hide
but from outside all seems as should

tormented by this telling tale
this tortured town within the vale
was soon to fall
unto its call
when one and all it would travail

not far away at forests edge
a sorry son breaks through the hedge
running gasping
sore throat rasping
but collapsing upon the sedge

as shameful tears begin to fall
the knowing winds begin their call
night brings dreary
wet with weary
earthly eerie set to enthrall

at night these woods protect the dark
awash with pitch both leaf and bark
and all he fears
it reappears
and yet his tears provide a spark

the secret moon provides the light
and then the smell of wood alight
a distant fire
he must inquire
if to retire but for the night

now moving on between the trees
perhaps a moment to be seized
dismissing chance
and circumstance
and so advance as fate decrees

I get so tired of you,
who use your voice
without first understanding that it is a choice.
When you speak,
you're obliged to handle with care
the words and the feelings
thrown out to the air.

Do you even know the language at all?
I do not think you do.
If so, how can such a waste of words occur
among the literate lucky few?

Words can weave the truth of the past
upon the present's very soul.
Yet, here you stand
with pen in hand,
unaware of your part in the whole.

No, I do not believe
you even know
where words come from at all.
They are not yours.
You did not make them.
You merely use them as you scrawl.

They are ancient spirits;
unchanged and unspoken,
breathed by men
more witted and wiser then you.
Please cease your distraction
before they are broken.
Their meaning too meaningful
to be fooled with by you.

And here I do tell you,
please hear what I mean;
If the words they elude you, as if too Byzantine,
then just give up from the start,
for only the wisest of hearts
can ever know love
and how it came to mean.

This notion absurd
goes beyond written word,
and it is here that you must understand me.
For only by meaning alone
can words ever atone
for the confusion in heart's understanding.

Where did it begin
and who is its author?
These things,
please let me explain.
For I have been at study;
My heart battered and ******
and my pen
now broken in twain.

There was a man, he had his hour.
It came upon him late one night.
From the darkness of his room,
he heard a call so faint and slight.

He felt a tug down deep inside.
He knew that he would have to go.
Moving swiftly for the door,
all his actions seemed to flow.

Down the streets two blocks, then left.
Up the corner, now take a right.
Mechanically he moved through town.
He had no time to waste tonight.

Finally he’s at the place.
Going in, split-seconds pass.
The robber sees him, waves a gun;
“now put ‘em up or lose your ***!”

He fails to do and so he gets,
A gun aimed and set to go.
He hits the floor, the gun it shoots
The robber reacts much too slow.

He missed our man, but shot the wall.
The bullets bounce where they came
The robber somehow shot himself.
That god he had such careful aim.

And now, it over, our hero stands;
How fate may great a wondrous treat.
You see our man came not to tempt his fate.
What he came for was a bite to eat.

When I was young and wooly
we all could laugh and tease
someone would say "your mom!"
I could always handle these

Now, as I've grown older
I've grown delicate and weak
My friends must check their tongues
They feel uneasy when we speak

There are some things they just don't say
some problems not addressed
Although I feel ashamed inside
Sometimes I think its best

And so I keep my hat on
and keep my dignity inside
My close friends I keep distant
In hopes my fears will soon subside

What they don't see can't hurt me
But, I can see it in their face
They know I feel uneasy
So they all give me my space

They know I have a problem
One that I cannot admit
And so, I have my hat
and I keep it under it

Despite my many friends I'm lonely
Despite my needs, I am alone
You see my problems now are bigger
It is my hair that hasn't grown

Perhaps one day my friends will help me
They won't be silent anymore
They will make me face the question
Why do I feel so insecure?

You see, I know my friends, they like me
With, or without my hat
It doesn't matter how I look
As long as I am honest
Then we all can live with that

We are supposed to be at the hospital. The rest of my family is already there. My wife is yelling up the stairs. What am I doing. What's going on. We have to leave.

But I can't leave. I'm listening to a song. Searching it. I may have already heard it some thousands of times in my life. But this time is different. I'm listening for something. Something I think I’ve heard in it before. Only, at this moment it's kind of a life and death thing.

Forty miles away my sister lies in a Philadelphia hospital bed. Unconscious. Around her several machines sustain her life. My six other sisters and three brothers shuffle around and breathe the rest of the oxygen out of the room.  Right now, they're waiting for me to arrive so that we can end her life together. But I can't do it. I can't get up. I can't even make my legs move. I look down at my feet. My shoes. How do I put them on? At forty-one I'm so ashamed at all that I do not know.

Sitting here, frozen. Looking for answers from a Led Zeppelin song. It's just a reminder of how worthless I've become. Though, the truth is that I've never been good at anything. And this is my dilemma. How do I learn to become the man my family needs me to be, while somehow keeping the important parts of my world the same...as in not losing my sister.

For me, right now, only one thing is true; as long as I sit here, my sister is alive. As soon as I go there, *she dies.