The road is long and the days are short.  
Life consists of only so many miles.
Enjoy the ride while you still can.
Someday, you’ll run out of gasoline.

Life consists of only so many miles.
Take heed not to speed.
Someday, you’ll run out of gasoline.
Don’t let the rigorous journey discourage you.

Take heed not to speed.
Savor the curiosities that you behold.
Don’t let the rigorous journey discourage you.
Find the beauty in the bumps and turns.

Savor the curiosities that you behold.
Enjoy the ride while you still can.
Find the beauty in the bumps and turns.
The road is long and the days are short.

Here comes the sun.
The puddles have dried from underneath my eyes,
And the storm-clouds evaporated from my mind.
In earnest, I call for jubilation!
Convalescence at last!
But then I remember.
My fitful feelings are simply on furlough.
This is only the eye of the storm.
Knowing this, I brace myself,
Hoping of mitigating my inert emotions.
In haste, I foist my harrowing memories,
Banishing them to far-away corners of the mind.
I defend my self-esteem,
Behind impregnable walls and menacing guards.
A shelter to ignite hope.
Inside, I feel valiant.
For once, I am strong.
Alas, it’s all to no avail.
My attempts quelling the insurrection will prove useless.
The enemy attacks from the inside.
And so with a sigh, I’ll wave my white flag.
My fortress will crumble.
Hope will no longer burn.
The storm will engulf me once more.

Procure a pleasure so terrible;
A liking to great pain and fear.
Through this you will understand
How it feels at the end
To fall like the rain;
The mind condenses.
No way out
Screaming for
Night.

Once winter dissipates into the ocean,
And spring’s benevolence swaddles New England,
I am lured to Boston Commons.
There, while reclining on a grassy incline,
I like to watch the pretty people pass me by.

Women,
With flowing hair and designer jeans,
Gracefully amble through the park.
While men,
Decked out in pompadours and plaid shorts,
Smile and give them the eyes.

On days like these, love’s glamour is on full display.
Two pretty people identify each other,  
Wink, nod, and then exchange telephone numbers.  
Within minutes,they become entangled in each other’s arms,
While seemingly a fanciful occurrence for some,
Relationships present themselves to pretty people with ease.

As I immerse myself in Boston’s spring animation,
Waiting impatiently for my love’s nativity,
I cannot help but envy the blessed few.
Sometimes I resent them,
But on days like today,
I respect them.
What it must feel like to have the world in your hands,
And to be among perpetual love.
What it must feel like to be truly alive.

In the midst of a waning Thursday afternoon,
I observed the outdoors from my cozy nook.
Birds serenaded each other from the treetops,
Flapping theirs wings,
Playing in the cordial breeze.
A handsome red robin took center stage,
Usurping the cynosure of the garden.
Gracefully, he sauntered to the edge of an evergreen limb,
Released an emphatic chirp, and slid into the sky,
Becoming airborne.
Free.

Meanwhile, I gazed at the clouds lethargically.
I was anchored to the land,
Indentured to books and worksheets.
I wished that I too could flap my wings,
Be hoisted into the air by the breeze,
And venture into the clouds.
But this I did not endeavor.

Unknowingly, I contracted my horizons,
Preoccupied by the useless facts and figures,
I was oblivious to the world outside of my abode.
While others lived their lives and spread their wings,
I fell behind.
They found joy in clouds, while I,
A flightless emu,
Buried my head in the sand.