I made peace with my station eons ago,
Perched atop a mountain edge, overlooking a sea of my thoughts.
I sit on the ground while the tall grass sways,
Knees to my chest, drinking it all in,
Hair blowing softly by the winds of change.
A place made on my own,
Created from protection or fear, origin unclear.

Today's a little different however,
The temperature is warmer,
And I'm missing the slight rain that usually falls.

Maybe I’m out of my mind,
But I swear there’s a boat resting on my beach,
Worn and waiting with patient grace,
Rocking gently in the shallow reach,
As if to say, “You’ve sat here long enough,”
Inviting me to finally stand,
To leave this quiet mountain edge behind
And see where I might land.

those pensive ones
as they seem to me
birds on the wire
gazing this way
     and that
lost invariably
to their ennui
their melancholy
their obliviousness
to the point
some may say
     pointlessness
of their existence
in these moments
without reason
or incentive enough
to prompt one
     or the other
to take to the wing
embracing the bluster
of the ever-blowing winds
rather they sustain
this idle malingering
waiting listlessly
for that which none
can know

Passing Through

We are like two sailing ships
Passing through a narrow canal

Veteran captains standing  on our decks
We nod heads to each other

In acknowledgement as if to say
Congratulations on a job well done

The sails of our boats once taut now sag
A sign of the relics we have become

In our hey day
We were the top of our class

The envy of the fleet
Known for speed and cunningness

The scourge of the open seas
Few willing to take us on in a battle of the minds

Feared in competition
Avoided where possible

But alas like all things in life
There is decline and decay awaiting us

When you know the time has come
For navigating into the sunset for safe harbor

All that is left is to idle away time
Sitting on the sandy shore until...

Andreas Simic©

Click a button
Watch the numbers climb
Even if it means nothing
The feeling is sublime

My brother asked me,
"Do you want to shoot a gun?
We can go over safety.
How to load and unload one.
You may never have to
use one in your life
but this is America
knowing this could save your life."
I told you before,
I don't trust my hands when they're still.
If I know the code
to the safe when I'm ill
and how to load
a gun when I'm scared,
will I remember
who I am and who cared?
So my brother,
I fear what I'll become
if I learn this will I
get control of my thoughts?
Will it bring me power?
Will it bring me peace?
Will I be in control
when I turn off the safety?
My brother, I want to know
but not enough to hold
this answer to the question
"When will the pain go?"
It's so finite.
So absolutely cold.
The barrel in my hands
so still with idle thoughts.

Another day passes by,
With me not knowing why.

A grin is plastered on my face,
Like a maniac running from something he hates;
yet I still enjoy the feeling of the chase.

The tension made it an ill-looking smile;
then the idea was washed over me.
I feel this way because...

I was useless.

I was useless yet did nothing to solve this problem.
I'll idly do something as I remember all the things that should've been done,

It haunts me

every second,

minute,

and hour.

I was a menace,
A menace to myself and everyone;
Felt like an actor reading a script.

But then again, someone said that life and all is like a play
And the world is a stage.

It makes everything feel surreal,
Like a living dream.