Why am I this and why am I that? Do you think I prefer staying oblivious to these questions? I didn’t make myself, then why am I accountable? What holds these answers if anything?
All I know is I’m here I am who I am I might change in the future And I might be lying to myself about who I was before But I’m all here now, and I have the power to look back
What am I? Human Shameless Passionate Perhaps even attractive
What baggage do I carry? Perhaps more and less than the average Perhaps I have a brain cell or two to bring along But no matter how hard I try, I’m still the person I was a second ago And that is a life-long sentence
The alarm got us up before the sun fully awoke we pulled our sleepy bodies out of bed got on our grungies not even fixing coffee yet, got our gear together in the pickup and headed for the peninsula where we hoped the sand bass would be schooling, searching for some breakfast of worms or flashy things that looked to them like food. If we were lucky we hooked a few which we would cook later or save for the freezers back home.
When we got back to the campground we’d comb our hair brush our teeth and head into town for Pat’s Cafe who served the best biscuits, eggs, hashbrowns, and pancakes in the region and if we were lucky Pat herself with her long black hair and **** lips and substantial hips would stop by and in her Texas twang and charm she’d tell us about their farm we’d speak of our wives and some of the small details of our lives and how we loved that large beautiful body that sparkled and sang to us each spring and how we savored dipping into Lake Whitney.
In late afternoon we would laze about the RV discussing Theilhard and Jesus and Charlie he’d speak of Bob Wills and we’d share trying to make sense of the spirits there and how they made us leap and soar. We spoke in sync and explored lines of novels, and fascinating texts that made us eager to discover what was next that would make us laugh or shed tears of all those memorable years we’d been brothers afloat of the same waters becoming men who hoped to make their mark spark something good in the minds of other seekers who also drank wines fermented in corridors of learning who had the same yearning for knowledge and truth embedded early and deeply in our youth.
My hopes were lower than the floor of city puddles Until, until The sunlight came which was your name And evaporated me into the clouds And now all that's left is the little sounds Of the new me falling all around
With a ripple I change Becoming rain
Gosh... I really like how this one turned out. Not that the expression is perfect or that it's completely about me. But the flow, the flow.
there are very few people in the world who will ever truly understand you so let them say what they want, you are not in control of the way you are perceived don't allow temporary people to explore your soul the depths of you should only be welcome to those who can appreciate the valleys you've walked and the scars you wear like tattoos there are people that will praise your failures and hope you stay tethered to the pain of your past I hope you understand these are the ones that need love the most I hope you learn to give it from a distance you'll find that it is necessary to let things go, people too you'll find that burning bridges isn't always a catastrophe I hope you learn to love the sound of walking away from what is no longer meant for you you were made for more than this