I have never been employed or earned any money for the work I do. And yet I still have a job to do.

For I am the door keeper, a guard, a lookout... a friend.

My job is simple yet complicated, for I have many jobs rolled into one.

I stand by the door and wait for people to approach me. Some talk to me, most people don't. Don't you know that I do my work for you? I don't get paid for my work, but I still think it's worth it to keep working.

I am the door keeper.

I stand by the weak, injured, and the broken with the strength I still have. When the people who I help finally regain their strength, they walk away from me, not even leaving a "thank you".

I am the guard.

When danger arrives at someone else's doorstep, I am there to see that they are not harmed, I will warn the of danger and guide them out of harms way.

I am the lookout.

Whenever you need me I will be there, I'll hold your hand and help in any way I can. I will always be here.

I am your friend.

I have always been here, but people don't see me anymore. I have become a ghost. I wonder what it takes to become alive again. But I can't just leave, whether or not people see me. I need to keep working. My job doesn't cost money, it costs lives.

A treasure more valuable than money.

I can't stop working.

I am the door keeper watching for their smiling faces. I am the lookout for their lives, and the guard of their hearts. But most importantly a friend.

A friend they might never see, but I'm still here.

I can't leave just yet. Because I still have a job to do.

I will continue to stand guard by the open door of my life.
Nateive Son Dec 2015

Grandaddy Abbey was not a naturalist,
He just liked nature,
Paved roads would not do,
Had seen them in his youth,
17 and across the Southwest from Pennsylvania and on back,
His feet were firmly planted here,
And there,
But mostly around the world from everywhere else,
Good ol' U-S-A as it rang back then,
Slowly smogging away but still full of beauty,
He found the waterfalls among the pines,
Tasted the air without smog,
Fine,
Grand,
Simply a man.

Can also be read at: http://poetfreak.com/585728/edward-abbey-had-a-beard-that-made-grizzly-adams-want-to-hug-a-tree.html
Adolph Hamilton Aug 2015

The pines sway gently in the afternoon sea breeze ,
Their limbs stretch upward toward the bright blue sky,
They feel safe under my watchful eye

From the many hours in fire twrs

— The End —