I may look content in fine and lace
but the wilderness is my home.
It cares not what chaos brought me here.
Its paths are mine to roam.

When I need some space to understand
the choices I have made.
To compare my works to those of God
and confront this unafraid.

I start off for the mountain top
which I will likely never reach.
I care not, for life lives on its sides.
And what lesson does this teach?

There is a truth that’s shared along the trail
to cherish all we see,
For we may never pass this way again
but what we love will always be.

You said one day we'd be together
Not for the night, but for forever
You said one day
                        that you would be
                                                  my one and only

But here I am, all these years later
the gap between grown only greater
And word from you
                        comes only through
                                                  when you are lonely

What happened to your grand design?
Were you really planning to be mine?
Or am I a fool
                        who wanted wool
                                                but fell for cotton?

Imperfect then, Imperfect now
Never wanted perfection anyhow
Just can't believe
                      I'd be deceived
                                                and then forgotten

Dear Mr. Cupid,

I hope you are well. Please forgive this letter’s intrusion. I know you are busy, preparing your bow, and planning this season’s collusions. I’ll remind you though Sir, of the issue I had with the last year’s arrow consignment. Your aim was amiss, and I’d be remiss if I failed to seek your reassignment. I’d like somebody new to deliver my true - love for which I have been waiting. For it has been so long since my wife ran along, and everyone says that I should be dating. So please, if you would send somebody good to shoot Love's arrow at me. Thank you in advance for forgoing this dance.

Sincerely,
Mr. Oso Lonely

It wasn't at holidays; we always had those.
But, sometimes a birthday. More often an A.

You came to the beach, but not to my game.
Sometimes a "Well done!" on what's knew and the same.

You said you were proud, but how could you be?
You saw only my failures and what you wanted to see.

My everyday evils I handled without you.
What knowledge these gave, I deny it is true.

I will never be sure of, what you didn't teach me.
I doubt everyday what it is to be me.

Rise!* Oh, Mighty Jupiter;
Our Father now forgotten.
Come claim your rightful reverence.
Your pagan pedigree misgotten.

You were once our Shining Father;
Great King of all the Sky.
But you allowed your world to set
so a new Son could arise.

Zeus once ruled before you, and
Jesus became your heir.
Today not many realize
how we got from here to there.

I have considered for some moments
how our thoughts of god do change.
Plural notions of so long ago,
today can seem so strange.

We like to think we've come so far,
since those pagan days of yore.
Have we abandoned superstition
or just embraced it even more?

It was millennia ago
that Zeus ruled Mount Olympus.
He, their leader, more than father,
often beaten by hubris.

The Greeks, they worshiped leaders,
seeking standing in this forum.
Such desires, democratic
became their gods that ruled before them.

As the centuries moved on,
your new Latin home was Roma.
Your title too, transformed
to reflect a new persona.

To Zeus we added "Father",
or in Latin, pater, we prefer.
So Zeus, becomes Zeus-pater,
Zupater, then Jupiter.

Our names for gods reveal
exactly how they fill our needs.
Over time our needs evolve
and so a new name supersedes.

As Rome aged, it developed  
a need to know god as a man.
To be one of his number.
To see themselves as of his clan.

This zeus, he can be talked to,
can be greeted and be known.
They "Hail Zeus" as HeyZeus.
And now its Jesus on the Throne.

Through such inquests we can see
the needs Gods fill evolving,
from cold, covetous Kings
to a begotten Son absolving.

We imagine in the Heavens
things to help us understand,
how a universe so endless
can be the realm alone of man.

I woke up late at night
and I went into the room
I made the sacred gesture
as I entered in the tomb  
Well, it gets colder everyday
Perhaps I'll be there soon to stay

I woke up late at night
and I hadn't put it down
I knew somehow I'd fallen
but, I hadn't hit the ground
Well, it gets darker every night
The next may never bow to light

I woke up late in life
much maturer then I cared
I've known the answers and the problems
but the truth for once was dared.
Well, it gets easier every year.
You have to lean to live with fear

I can see the shafts of sunlight
amber slices through the air.
Gilded rays of fair approval
favor the betters basking there.

But, we live in the shadows;
The often seen but rarely known.
We, the great unworthy
take their experiences for our own.

This is life in the penumbra;
Unacknowledged, though intended.
We live lives by implication.
Rights derived, but not defended.

Nothing grows in the penumbra's
un-illuminated spaces.
Except the mass of shifting shadows
that your compassion rarely graces.

prelude*

High above the world of Man
in the realm of Gods and Muses
Love exists just like a creature
in the spirit form it chooses.

One day it gallops gallantly,
spreading goodwill through the sky.
The next, it stomps so stubbornly,
refusing even just to try.


----------------------------- ( Enter the Hero ) ----------------------

Hero: "You who are the Poet
I pray, tell me now of Love.
You, the Guardian of the Good Heart,
I am one deserving of."

"I come searching here for answers.
For some way to understand.
Why has the greatest test of Manhood
left me so unmanned?"

"My soul lies broke and beaten.
My heart is all but dead
from bedogging dark desires,
and forceful feelings in my head"

"I seek the fiery affection
of a Good Heart girl of gold
Sir, your sonnets speak of pale perfection.
And, its of this magic I've been told!"
-----

Poet: "Yes, you've come to the right man.
The lonely look to me for Love,
and my poetic plays of passions.
For words are putty in my glove."

"You see, the heart is of the body;
but Love comes from beyond.
Through Muses I make contact
and with my words you'll make the bond."

"All you need is look to language
the realm of rhapsody and song.
It is in here you'll find your answers.
It is here your Lover's heart belongs."
-----

Hero: "But how can your words speak of wisdom
that I do not know myself?
Poet, your Love is but illusion.
Please put your pen upon the shelf."

"Words can be deceiving,
with meaning high above my ear.
In such ways I'm made a cuckold.
It is such ways of love I fear."

"It is too late that I awaken.
Misfortune mocks me in my heart.
My Lover sets an Eastern course
and soon she will depart!"
-----

Poet: "Do not doubt the Poet's power.
Your tongue will testify with ease.
My words will work their magic
and your Lover will be pleased."

"Let me tell you of the Ancients.
Rooted, uncomplicated men.
For he it was his family,
and Love bounded him to them"

"Words today are the decedents
of the Ancient's mother tongue.
Over time their words were altered
as they got passed from old to young"

"Each letter, was once a picture
with a meaning of its own.
And, as they join with other letters
a brand new meaning can be shown"

Oh magic Maiden
                      of the meadow,
get to the Garden
                      with your gifts.

The Sun is sailing
                      cloudless Kingdoms
and every shadow
                      shall be kissed!

Your beauty bares
                      itself in blossoms,
that none ill-natured
                      must behold.

So, swiftly now
                      sweet Maiden.
For every savage
                       seeks your gold!

Dad,

Where are you? Can you hear me?
Can we communicate right now?
It's your son, and I've grown older,
but still so much I don't know how.

It's just a few years since you've left us,
though for many you were ready.
I saw you fade  but to a whisper,
from a voice so strong and steady.

And though you may have thought
I couldn't wait for you to die;
Today, I stand bewildered.
I beg for one more chance to try.

To try to ask you how you did it;
be a husband and a dad?
Things I never thought to ask you,
or did not know how since I was mad.

But, they throw food across the table.
Constantly fight and misbehave,
and then my wife feels so defeated.
(You must be turning in your grave.)

I worry so I've failed my boys.
As I remember, so once did you.
Though my brothers and I, we made it.
Just exactly how, **I never knew.

The things I never saw you do,
yet, you must've done somehow.
Solving all the world's dismays.
Never failing in your vow.

You made it look so easy.
So calm and  yet concerned.
No question left unanswered.
No compliment unearned.

You always looked undaunted.
Did you ever want to run?
Where did you find the answers
on exactly how to raise a son?

I sat smugly as a young man
dismissing all you said to me.
But, sadly now I sit here
wishing for one more chance to see.

When did the fires ignite?
When did the patterns first reveal?
Was it when we first stood UPRIGHT,
or used a rock to **** our meal?

When did Man first emerge from prehuman?
When did we first begin to have a care?
Was it when we drew our hand upon the wall
That we first announced we're self-aware?

Swollen  clouds of passion
once  crashed* across my face
and Fires flared from friction
everywhere your lips did trace

our Chilly fingers sought their shelter
deep in the spaces inbetween
But these spaces,        now            so              spacious
have wicked the warmth from what I mean

And I,
the only audience to your absence,
unable to exist
For you stole from me my *reason;
the anticipation of your kiss.

½* a love is not a ¼th as rewarding,
though its heartache lasts twice as long.
One day you're believing in soul mates,
the next its like every sad song.

Don't believe her
when she says she'll leave him,
if you could *just... be there...  for her...  right now...
It's not just that she can't.
It's not just that she won't.
It's that she doesn't even want to know how.

Mister Blister, there he goes!
His shoes, they open for his toes.
His jacket has no sleeves at all.
His trousers, well, they just might fall.

He is a coarse and hairy sight.
He limps and dares not stand upright.
He has a shopping cart to push.
His bathroom is the nearest bush.

People yell and call him names,
and talk about the way he shames,
the neighborhood, and those who "care"
about the world they say we share.

But, Mister Blister is my friend.
He always has some time to spend.
He cares about what I say,
and remembers this from day to day.

He knows about my cares and fears
and what I try to say he hears.
Perhaps the others are too old
to see without life's blindfold.

I wish that he could freely live
and that the town, he could forgive.
They just don't know you like I do.
Mister Blister, I'm glad I do.

Your shoulders are deceivers.
They let me nestle in your lies.
And your breaths,
so soft and measured;
They conspire with your eyes.

Together they convince me
that what I see and feel is true.
But, these expressions,
so well-practiced,
keep the truth beyond my view.

I came to you for answers;
For you knew I could not see.
But, you told me not the truth.
Just what I knew could never be.

It was your lips that told me everything,
strange, their passion overheard.
They said "leave before you cannot",
though they never voiced a word.

Jaedan, please don't ride
your bike to the corner...
I saw you the last time;
You even went further.

I know that the next time
you'll go farther than that.
My heart's just not ready
for what comes after that.

Please, just stay out in front,
right where I can see you.
I know it gets boring,
but, if you agree to...

I'll help you build castles,
play games never-ending.
So long as you stay right here
while we are pretending.

You think I'm a giant
that makes every bugaboo flee.
But, the truth is I crumble
with every scrape of your knee.

I just am not ready to see you
ride off 'round the corner.
Won't you stay with me Jaedan,
just a few more years longer?

Here you stand blowing raspberries
at my phonemic skills.
Please close your lips. Just listen.
Learn of bilabial trills.

You may call me an animal
for my alveolar clicks,
for in America its only real use
is for catcalling chicks.

And not many understand
a velar implosive stop,
that the words are the gurgle
of a doughnut shop cop.

And yes,  my pharyngeal fricative
sounds like something's amiss.
But its not always contempt,
like some puppet show hiss.

So, if you just could excuse
my pulmonic ingressive,
I promise, If it feels like it hurts,
I will be singly expressive.

I guess all I can say
is that when you hear what I say,
remember, it more than just words
that I try to convey.

I stand here today
alone, brokenhearted,
to say
I do not understand Love.
No, not at all.
Its easy when new,
or newly unparted,
when the flame of desire outshines every flaw.

But, when seen through the eyes
of three decades behind us,
it doesn't seem all that thrilling,
that new
or that grand.
It wears like a harness with the weight of forever.
So tell me,
then why is it in so much demand?

I've been told,
while its true,
that your heart is a muscle;
it doesn't get stronger, but weaker from use.
I thought I knew better.
I thought I was Rustle.
But that granite presumption
she did disabuse.

The battle was imminent.
The forces were joined.
No longer was time standing idle.
Outnumber and ******
by 100 to 1,
the Spartans stood fervid and vital.

The Greeks were united,
though the Spartans alone
were the ones charged with their protection.
At Thermopylae pass,
300 men stood
together in imperfect perfection.

"Surrender your arms"
King Xerxes demanded,
"Surrender, and let the Persians betake them."
Leonidas replied "Molon Labe!" my foe,
**"If you want them, then you come and take them."

Forgive me father,
for I am Sin
and I am here
to take you in.

Its been thirty years
since my last confession,
but mere moments
since your last transgression.

and though you thought
all had gone unseen,
your hands and soul  
remain unclean.

You took
our Father's Sacred Trust,
and through it proclaimed
yourself as just.

And, while children,
yes, they will believe,
the eyes of mine
you can't deceive!

I know what you did
and you know to who,
and I'll not let you
draw the curtain through.

Your crimes,
these I will expose;
For my friend,
the victim no one knows.

No one knows him,
because he's dead.
because of you.
Because he bled.

You see,
he thought he
was just a boy.
Not some secret to destroy.

So,
it didn't make sense to him to live,
because of what you said
and what you did.

But, don't you ever believe
that Our Lord allows
men like you to break these vows,
and then disclaim
and then rebuke
a boy who dared to speak the truth.

You watched as a child sank and died
and to the Courts, how loudly you denied.

But,
don't believe that I am ever fooled,
and my vengeance will not be overruled.

For I am Sin,
and I don't care how much you cry.
**My Hell awaits the day you die.

i once was young and brave like you
and i had dreams of triumph too
this foolish son
then hurt someone
and i did run, but what in to

he was a shepherd on his way
to find a lamb then gone astray
and i intrigued
so well believed
the tale of need he did convey

but as we searched about the glen
a dreaded feeling pierced my skin
a stranger’s hands
and strange demands
to r’move the bands and take him in

i did not understand the lie
and so he looked me in the eye
to make me see
the friend that he
would be to me if i’d comply

I never had known things before
to be so backwards or so sore
but, i obeyed
and he repaid
my wish to aid by taking more

and that is how the world has been
so little left to make me grin
except to see
young man to be
and so shall he share my chagrin

so, here we stand, alone and frail
both victims of this telling tale
and I undone
and you my son
your time has come to now unveil

the beast from whom all men descend
will come today to bring an end
to the hedon who
has followed through
on his promise to deceive and wrend

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.

I cannot be as weak as this
I pick the **** up to my lips
Inside I cringe
at every binge
I do despite my thoughts of right.

I believe I can control myself
but, I must be thinking of someone else,
for this dependence
that's over me
has taken my ability;
- to see the good in all that's bad
- to get a smile from someone sad
but,
what's the use of optimism?
what good is hope inside this prison?

My addiction's taken over me
though I have a dream to be set free

But, a prisoner I am bound to me
unless some force inside of me
unleashes strength
unto my soul
Regaining all that drugs have stole
and if this happens
if it only could
that I'd set my old **** down for good.

Something has me quite unsure
of the security I've known.
Eyes see from the mirror
how little I have grown.

Years ago I dreamed and planned
of accomplishing this test.
But, now I sit and cough.
I know I've never done my best.

My resolutions left unsolved
No strength to take my hand
How easy too, to just get through.
How hard to be a man.

But, one thing I am sure of,
and let no one else deny;
One day I know I'll make it.
I will do this before I die.

I'm growing up.
My mind is changing everyday.
The time is passing,
but I don't let it slip away.
With every action
I take two problems into play.
I'll find the answers
and I can't wait another day.

My life's unfolding,
but I have seen it all before.
One day I will be rich,
although for now I may be poor.
The doors aren't open,
yet it still feels like a tour.
But, there is chance
and that's a fact I can't ignore.

I heed each step
yet I care not about the stride.
I know I'll get there
and that effort will provide.
I'll reach for stars
and that someday I will decide,
that I have made it,
and then I'll find a place to die.

I am alive inside this page.
You've but to read to set me free.
I beg, I plead to you who read;
read on to help me. Set me free!

I've been inside here for so long,
just waiting for someone to glance,
upon this page and then to read.
To unwittingly give me a chance.

I think you'll help me. Will you not?
You've read to far now just to stop.
Your instinct fools you. Your interest pulls you.
You find this page is hard to drop.

My freedom comes with every word,
with every verse that you will read.
I know you're empty. I will fill you.
I will become you when I'm freed.

Now its too late, for I am in you.
No longer shall you live as free.
I give you my prison of the page.
Your body and soul belong to me.

What a special day I had today.
So special, and it was not even mine.

The sun was warming.
It was God's wind blowing.
And for once, we all were there,
and all our love was showing.
And the children
in the day,
they were laughing, having fun.
And everyone was smiling.
It was all I ever I wanted,
and it was not even mine.

My sister.
It was her day.
And yet the sun could almost die,
but for the radiant Patricia
could keep any heart alive.
Immaculate,
in white and lace.
Enchanting. Captivating.
The gods above did fall in love,
but she shall keep them waiting.

Her husband.
It was his day.
He thanked us just because,
we were who we were,
and he was who he was.
He was genuine in his embrace.
Sincere in his smile.
There beside my sister,
he seemed to strike a certain style.
I knew they would be happy.
This love will last forever.
I could feel it in my heart,
and it was not even mine.

I saw my mother.
She was smiling with a tear.
My father sighed and shook his head,
perhaps somewhere in yesteryear.
Here, witnessing the true event
of what pain and sacrifice are meant.
Knowing in some way she's leaving.
But, in marriage, true believing.
I wanted to laugh as well as cry,
and it was not even mine.

My sisters.
They all did contest.
Competing with the bride.
Resplendent.
They did look their best,
I still cannot decide,
if it was they that looked more beautiful
or more the day
and all the view.
And as I looked around at wide-eyed guests,
I knew that they did wonder, too.

My brothers.
All so strong and cool.
Among the guests,
so sure to fool.
Of four, three of us still *****.
We swear those words will not be said!
We congratulate.
We poke and jibe.
And yet we keep the truth inside.
We stop and think about our day.
We dream.
We hope its something like today.
I dream and sigh,
and want today,
though it was not even mine.

As we gathered for the photograph
I began to see my flaw.
This day that I had wanted,
it was no ones day at all.
For days that are this beautiful,
and this loving, I have learned,
are only lent to us by God,
and soon must be returned.
But we can take from it our memories,
and our dreams and friendships, too.
Patricia and Mike will take each other,
and a love that lives anew.

Once I thought I would be rich.
My fame and name were certain.
But, long before I found my way
someone had drawn the curtain.

I realized then how wrong I was;
Egocentric and naive.
I renounced my pride and did decide
to be careful what I would believe.

What I found to be important then
was to find the truth in what I feel
To speak my mind
To cross the line
To let you know just what is real.

But, soon I realized something else;
I still was lying to myself.
Denying dreams and fantasies
I caused my flaming soul to freeze.

There is no answer in denial.
The truth has never been my style.
Go with whims.
Trust intuition.
Let my fantasies reach their own fruition.

I must appreciate the truth in fiction
while choosing carefully my diction.
I will follow fame behind my pen
and I realized I knew the answer then:

The curtain never had been closed.
It was my eyes and nothing more.
My ego driving and conniving
to keep my pride and name secure.

I know I must go by my heart;
It will decide just what is real.
And if it rules I'm due for fortune,
then my mind will not appeal.

Upon a bed of nails I sleep,
because its cold and also cheap.
I never have to count the sheep,
nor toss and turn from fitful sleep.

A friend of mine, his head did peep,
into my room (my clothes a heap).
He asked about the place I sleep;
"What strange habits do you keep?"

I assured my friend I was no creep;
"I love sharp nails on which to sleep.
Oh, they go in, but not too deep.
But, when I get on I do not leap."

When I'm in bed, I am asleep.
There is no pain to make me weep.
And though my sleep is not too deep,
It couldn't be so cool or so cheap.

I kick the earth beneath my feet
as I walk towards my flock of sheep.
Snow, it came in force last night
(my bedroom door was frozen tight).
Yet, as I woke, I thought of them.
How many did the cold condemn?

A shepherd? That I call myself.
Yet, I've laid my crook upon the shelf.
I read in tales of shepherds grand.
I'm no more a shepherd than a man.
I sleep in warmth and they in cold.
Of me, no stories shall be told.

And I do believe I am a fool.
I go on about "I am so cruel"
The pasture finds them sleeping well.
So quick to say what had befell.
No, I am no shepherd. I'm just a fool
Who forgot that sheep were dressed in wool.

a cool and windy morning
the sun upon a cloud
bring forth in me a wish to see
the forest and the tree

i continue to the forest
no idea of what i'll see
as Nature gives a magic show
within the canopy

the birds provide a concert
sweet music to the ears
squirrels do acrobatics
chasing friends and fun and fears

the Garden gives a bounty
your senses fancy feast
as we finally see the beauty
we never saw within a beast

Nature is a wonder show
so many splendid scenes
entertaining us forever
with every last routine

as a viewer we're responsible
we must give it support
we must take it to the white house
and fight for it in court.

it must be made as law
and forced through the legislature
or else i fear we're bound to see
the final act of Nature

I call upon my pen and pad
to prove my worth tonight
As I grow fat and lazy
I lose the urge even write

It used to be in words
that I became a useful man.
But, now its not enough
just to write as though I am

Words speak high and mighty
but its actions that proceeds
Too concerned with my desires
and not enough about my needs

I'm determined to become the man
my words have said I'd be.
If my dear pen would just oblige
I'd like to reach my destiny.

The season that is playing now
          brings forth a sorry tune.
No more Southern breezes.
          Sweet memories of June.

I find I am outside the ring.
           Within I tend the fire.
Ablaze not only leaves and sticks.
           I burn my soul entire.

The flames lick my wounds,
            but do not heal the pain.
Fire condemns, it won't create.
           What's gone is gone and naught remains.

And yet, I cannot walk away.
          This fire, it is mine.
Born the fruit of friction;
           Immortal and Divine.

What purpose had I hoped to serve?
           It never works as planned.
The servant now the master,
          I must feed it on demand.

Eventually, I am consumed;
          A victim of attrition.
The flames will wear us all away
         once we provide ignition.

I find I am inside the ring.
         I no longer tend the fires.
Ablaze is only leaves and sticks.
         I've burnt my soul entire.

We have the dream when we are falling.
It wakes us up so filled with dread.
I think its our subconscious calling
bringing ancient fears to us in bed.

The dream that is, the dream that was,
is what actually could have been.
No fantasy does what it does.
This is a gift from pre-man men.

Pre-man men, he lived in trees,
swinging, eating, sleeping, too.
Perhaps it was his greatest fear
to break the bough and fall on through.

At night they must have dreamt about it,
so afraid that they would fall.
And passed this dream into our minds
and at night we can recall.

Our collective mind, it is immortal
It won't forget for all of time.
So remember that this dream is but
a monkey on your mind.

Every time I think its time
I open up my past.
I think of days now stored away
yet, wishing that they were today.
Just one more chance to try again.
I know the answers I need at last.

But,
that could never be,
and I, now forgotten, am the last of them to see.
People younger than me,
they leave me far behind.
Did I simply miss my shot
or is it that I'm blind?

Too long the years I did not care.
Too soon the signs of losing hair.
If time could stop
and give me slack.
If I could find a passage back!
I want to thrive, to drive, excel;
To have a story I could tell.

But, this fleeting chance
I'll never know.
Perhaps the world deserves it so.

Its been so long since my pride has let me see
I have my faults, and yes, they get the best of me
I was inside a dream
thinking I was what I see
But, now that I've awaken
I know that 'I' could never be

Its not too late, I can do if I decide
I know I can improve
and that my will will turn the tide
From some pocket, now unseen
I'll pull my strength and walk behind it
But, that pocket, still unseen, somehow I need to find it.

You didn't have to do it
it gets easier down the road
despair is but a signal
slow it down and ease your load

but you did it
I wish you wanted me to know
and now, as I walk on
I find it hard to even go

Don't give me excuses
Because of you I want to die?
I shake my head. No, I'll live
and I don't have to know why

I just know
I cannot die as yet
its one thing I cannot forget.
But the one thing that I wish I could
is the thought of you
and why you would.

When the reasons seem so empty
and expectations seem so grand
it is hard to find the courage
to satisfy demand

When the beck and call is silent
and the path before is gone
it is too much to just continue
although I know I must go on

All along I have been searching
an easy way to have it all
never trying just to do it
too afraid that I would fall

And now as I grow older
My time is running out
and if I do not do it now
than I will have to do without.

Once upon a time,
I had a story I could tell.
But, now the facts have changed
and as I suppose its just as well.

For you see, I say my story
it is one of scattered dreams.
And, I was looking for an ending
that would sew up all the seems.

But, somewhere in the patchwork,
in the throw rug of my mind,
there was a loose thread
that I just could never find.

So, when it comes to taking action
you know why I won't take part.
For, all it takes is one good tug
and my patchwork comes apart.

Why won't these words release me?
They abstract me in my mind.
I will find internal peace
if an exit I can find.

I'm sad.
I should know why.
But, to put to words, I'm not sure that I...

Well, you see,
the way I handle problems,
the way I come to grips,
I put my thoughts to paper
as if I pull them from my lips.

I read them, finding meaning;
finding rhythm to my rhyme.
But, this sadness that I feel,
it just won't fit in metered time.
When I try to let it flow
I get a log jam in my mind.
All I get is garbled senses
with truth impossible to find.

Yes, all I do is scrawl confusion.
Yet, maybe that will say it best.
For,
how can I divulge the answers*
when  I never passed the test.

I can't seem to make up my mind
whether to go to sleep
or write a line
I take so long to make a move
I tend to grind into a groove.

I make a choice
but, do not act.
I use my voice, but let it crack.
I know what to do, but I do not
and so, I always seem to miss my shot.

Procrastination, Indecision, Laziness and Pride
Together, they conspire
to keep me down
and locked inside.

I have come close so many times.
I tell myself I'll see it through.
But, then in the fury of the moment
I always seem to miss my cue.

But, it isn't timing
or dependence
that keeps me waiting for someday.
Its the knowing I can do it
If I could
just get on my way.

I am Guatemala
I am its mountains and its shore
I am its black sand beaches. I am its artists and its poor

I am the mist from its volcanoes
I am its limestone richly carved
I am the Mayan, and the Latin. I am the hungry and the starved

I am its folklore and its future
I am its markets and its clothes
I am the abandoned and forgotten. I am its children no one knows

I am its colorful conventions
I am its jungles and its fare
I am its colonial traditions. I am the pilas in the square

I am Guatemala
I am its living and its dead
One is always Guatemala, no matter how far we are spread

Somewhere in the Eden,
where man has lost his right to even go,
somewhere in this Garden
man killed all that once did grow.

To prove we are pathetic
we invade lands that have no walls
Claim the land, and all its living
and make them subject to our laws.

Now, the water dark with death,
and the shore line rich with crude,
and its the men who now can't fish
who are the one's so quick to sue.

But, who speaks for the otters?
or the eagles?
or the land?
What attorney represents them
in the unnatural court of man?

Yet, to even just repay them,
for destroying their families, lives and homes?
The best way we could start?
Is just get out. Leave them alone.

I used to think
it helped me write
but,
now I see how wrong I was
It doesn't help at all, in fact
it ruins all I does
I want to stop
I wish I could
sometimes, I even say I should
But,
ask me if I think I could?
and I'll just sigh and knock on wood