These double doors are my eyes that see into peoples' lives
the end of a neon bright hallway, surgically clean
a lone traveller drags her life by the handle
here at an obscure hour while others sleep

I wonder if it's necessary that she leave?
She seems so removed from the furrowed brow
ticking watch business-man beside her
Watch the time. A missed flight. The world unfamiliar.

The agitated jitter of a lady puzzles me,
why does she cry? what is she leaving behind?
where will she go?
the airport departure lounge
purgatory
for a travelling soul.

I miss those wonder-filled days
When watching clouds was fun,
As well as watching movies
And more than only just one.
Two movies, a serial and a cartoon
Was the Saturday morning fare
With greasy popcorn and sodas
If we could find fifty scents somewhere.

My brothers and I loved picking
Through those illegal dump sites
That lawless neighbors often used,
Near us, in the middle of the night.
Once I found a Buddha statuette
And didn’t know who the guy was.
In Christian America of the fifties
Knowing such things had no cause.

Brother Jim found a tricycle there
Almost completely okay to ride
And Dan found a kind of wood box
With a handful of coins inside.
He got to pay for the movies for us
But Sam didn’t find much at all.
He did manage to slip at the time
And take a pretty hilarious fall.

Maybe it was easier then, those days
For kids to stay so entertained.
The only thing that might spoil our fun
Was if nature chose to make it rain.
Many times our fun was exploring
And rain could make it a weary slog.
It caused some unpleasant journeys
Through some unattractive bogs.

We built go-carts out of some junk
We gathered on our treasure hunts,
But usually they were contraptions
My mother definitely did not want.
Mom was like that, careful with us.
Worry-wart that she was back then
It didn’t stop or really slow down
Us four adventure-minded children.

The morning fog rolls in
A new day cascades into dew drops
The mountains reminder of
An unwavering ability to impose its will
On those dwelling in the comfort below

This is a break from the cloudless
Skies which have plagued the Earth
With fiery days relentlessly.
Taking a break to enjoy the change
Misty eyes and solemn smiles
Disguise themselves in limited
Visibility

Tell me truly, is it unruly to ruffle the feathers which once taught freedom
To desire distant lands, dismiss demands which are restricting
I was thinking, of adventures, purple skies and orange mountains
Happiness brimming like a fountain, fearless and fantastic
Restless feet ache to tread, upon sands tainted not by dread
Let these craving hearts keep searching and to never to settle like the rest

we chased after each other
becoming dog-tired and yearning
to rest in each other's arms
i tried to reach out for him
my fingers almost touching his
but no matter how hard we try
we just can't seem to lock hands
i pushed at him and he did the same
i banged the wall, he called out my name
until our frustrations to hold each other
finally die down in our sleep
because he tells me i'm the light
and he's the shadow on the wall
and that is only how we can meet

I so love this leisurely life,
hence the disdain for
marriage and wife

but if such calamity were
to befall and I find myself
hungry, sweaty, tired

in a dining hall, while
the guests have a ball,
let it be then, that my

pretty partner has gaol
bird thoughts, who doesn't
stand compromised, sad

imposed nonsense of
any sort, when I take
her hand, ask her if we

can flee, she wouldn't
care a hoot and simply
heed the call, I am

looking for a runaway
then, not a wife, one
who loves the trees,

breeze, road bends,
adventures, loves to
take solitary walks and

may be meet her husband
sometimes, just because
she feels the need, I am

not looking at all, for a
society-accepting, drab,
tradition-obeying being,

I am not looking for a
wife, after all, because I
so love this leisurely life

we could be lovers instead

here's to
streams travels wheel trees

here's to
kettle fumes dunes blues

here's to
hammocks ruffled hair loose clothes

here's to the free ebb

Let us sit by the water;
the sky darkens behind our backs,
ducks float, metallic feathers shimmering in moonlight.

Let us hold hands;
silence of night disappears between our thoughts,
minds racing, hearts beating and thumbs gently brushing one another.

Let us look at the stars;
how they form beautiful constellations,
how crystal clear our sky is with its stars blazing.

Let us remember tonight;
as the night our winter lips touched,
for the first time sealing an unspoken promise.

I have done many exceptional things in my life.
I have traveled to far-away worlds with effervescent seas.
I have fought alongside rebels and mutineers: against oppressive dukes and deities.
I, so vividly, remember the times I danced on the tops of skyscrapers. Thereafter howling at the moon with my fellow gypsies. But more than that, I remember the gentle laughter of friends.
I remember the soft hands of those I love on mine, while the sunsetted on an entirely unforgettable day.
I find my grandest adventures after the sun has dipped down out of sight, and the moon has risen to illuminate my so out of focus world.
I find them as I’m hunched over in my bed.
I find them as my fingers are trembling over the keys of a laptop; the glow of the screen burning in my eyes.
As I rip post-it notes full of ideas off my walls and mesh them together, I become some sort of enchanter; thus beginning yet another journey.
Although I may have not truly gone on such adventures, the feeling would remain the same if I had. Because, as I’ve come to realize, the truest of grand adventures starts with simply a single blank page and the desire to tell an earth-shattering story.