A man lives far
In distant land

He fled home
Centuries ago

Loved ones
Long forsaken

The terrors
Long forgotten

Restful nights
A man set free

Time passed
Nightmares Unburied

A man fled monsters
Centures ago

But twist or turn
Walk or run

All roads
Lead home

Ideas swirl in my mind
Forming windstorms
That pick up scattered thoughts and words
and grow into tornadoes
that whirl across my mind.

They distract from life
From what's real
and what matters.

But when I sit down to write
They all flee in terror
And my pen hovers above the page
filled only with scribbled out phrases
and my own insecurities.

Out upon my window pane
Willow leaf gusty day,

Early dawn yet arrived,
Silhouette shadows swoosh-swoop.

A storm is coming just you wait,
A mournful reason to remember today.

Tention snap, crackle, and sizzle,
Boiling over results harsh fizzle.
----
Quick run flee fly

Hit past mile and mile-faster full dial!
No game swoosh swash we lost them a while.

Flutter flourish leaves form the figure,
Death has come this holiday season.

When the sun rolls her eyes
A soft whisper reminds him
You’re home free once you lay inside

Barbed wires and lilac thieves
He's cloaked from head to toe
The Promised Land saws at his knees

Raising her head, she cries
Only not for stars or dreams
But to fill as though she is ten, not five

It’s the destination, not the journey they say
Preaching as though you don’t have soil to stay

Listening into the black and white picture screen
Ripples draped in red
They are not called she, he, only thing

Stripped of
Care
Consideration
Left less than animals

Tell me again why you believe this man covered in cloth
Is any less than the man who hides behind a rock

I can't always run,
But my hiding's not too bad.

A former boss told me
To stay longer for a work shift.
My lips said yes,
But my mind said "Hell no!"
Clocked out,
Casually stepped outside;
Upon passing the host window,
I blitzed to the car, fidgetted with my keys nervously,
And whirred the blazes out of that parking lot.

Each New Year of mine has begun with relatives
Crashing at my family house.
This 2019, I take the interstate back home
To be around the out-of-state.
It's been a long-lasting tradition
And I did what I could
To break apart from that tradition
Even just this time.

At a bar on New Year's Eve 2018,
I relaxed after having made prior reservations,
Just me,
And having moseyed away from family
For just one night.
I'd go to this bar again too:
**** dancing, stellar drinks, young blood...
**** dancing.
Didn't mean to be a Scrooge and mostly not dance,
But at least I escaped and saw new faces around me.

The escape that is never too far away
And is always open around the clock
Is my journal book.
A journal doesn't have to have continents,
Oceans or clouds
To be a world
That revolves around the author.
Natural the paper,
Preserving the pen[cil].

I'm not implying
That I escape this world,
But what a world there is
In escapism.