This blog was created for others who will hopefully glean something from the words I have written.Not much to say except I ran off from an orphanage when I was 13 years old.Hopped on a freight train and joined the circus.Have been wandering ever since.I am grateful to be alive and my only desire is to leave something here for others to gain from.If I can accomplish that then I have successfully reached my intended goal.All we have left in the end is our legacy.
These moments are cherished He is able to be a boy Through his eyes I am able To live it within my own self My childhood which was spent in thinking Is suspended for now Some day he will leave the guiding hand Dissapearing over a horizon To live a life of his own Completion will be his trophy And he will be spared the drama Hopefully I say this That he will choose the right path Not the one I chose at first Once the train begins to move Momentum pushes it forward The only method of escape In the aftermath luckily there are Only minor bruises and contusions Wounds never seemed to heal completely In myself I say The scars on occasion flare up in rememberance It takes a boy on a bike to quell them Or in the event Someone else's boy on a bike Because I know and have learned well Nothing is to be taken for granted I am not the one to question things Taken from me momentarily In the rocking in which I abide and dwell Enveloping me in its entirety from Sun to moon to stars
My hope and dreams or so it seems
As were carried in upon the sunlight
Such as in the kind that comes in through
The venetian blind
Penetrating a place on its own whim
Answering not to forces
In likeness to sounds of hooves
By the relentless horses
Caught up in a subtle tempo
The rate of movement
As it gained and lost time
In its own effectiveness
A rhythmic pattern of work
The child that was felt growing in my belly
Even the clanging of the radiator
Could not blot out its presence
I mulled over in my process to reason
A consequence that bears itself out
In this child of creation not yet born
Yet in patient waiting
It will come as no surprise
The event which hath already occurred
In this slight distraction
Within my own attraction
He slumbers in my bed
Falling upon my neck and ears
Outshining any sunlight that enters
In this room which has no fears
These moments of time
Kept secretly within my own heart
Is my dream boy lurking behind a tree Too shy to approach me out of fear Maybe he thinks I am not accessible He dreams of kissing me upon my forehead As I wait in suspense for him To make himself known to me I would accept his kiss and listen His plans to build my house for me Already formed in his mind Bales of straw and a candle would do The other ingredients would be added As time went along sweetly I would sing to him although I cannot carry a tune Maybe he would play the soft drum beat Using sticks upon the straw And we would be in awe Driving the banshees away
My death actually occured long before Physical death came to me I did not care to hear I did not care to see Words fell upon my ears Events occured around me I chose to block them out My tongue only graced others ears In necessary communication Life seemed to be a constant variable of Ruminations Each day brought more of the same My burial incomplete in my daily toil I died peacefully enough as it was Never awakening to life around me When the time came to arise in the morn There was no response from me Although I still rise each day and go on With the trudgery Not much difference I suppose Nobody notices me at all and it's alright I don't notice them either Something must be missing in me Or is something missing in them Never quite seemed to figure that part out As I wait patiently for the bus Am I supposed to or is it expected of me to move on What is the sensibility of moving on More buses to catch I suppose People living life around me Hoping it is different for them than it is for me There has to be more to life than what it was A small child sat next to me on the bus once I imagined happiness Then I wanted to steal the love away Until I remembered to shut my eyes Keeping silent
Many abandon their prisons There are those who cannot Chains wrap about the mind Choking the heart Up until the last breath Under a sentence of death For crimes they have not commited There is no pity for the condemned The cry for blood is loosed Unto who ever has a spare head It matters not who they were Disposable humans who lay in ruin Nobody pays attention to what is said They walk heavily over the corpses To reach their own goals Bread is cast out on the water Inevitably it comes back void Scattered seeds are wasted Germination will never occur In sterile souls who have no concience With exception to their own need This is the lesson of self greed Read in between the lines Look closely around From the cellhouse in your prison Which stands on unclaimed ground Consider yourselves fortunate Being on the outside is like being in prison too We all get out sooner or later Even if we have to wait for death
Against the walls of fate He is the writer of words To the absurdity of events Mute to all before him In recording the notations Which may not seem to make sense The equation is at his mercy Only a wordsmith can solve Delving into the mysteries Emotions concealed deep Taking on a life of their own Formation of the utter grief Frustrations as a growth takes place Pressure under the lid It is then that the words become intense And only then does the pressure cease Until he visits the walls of fate Where once again it begins Flowers in his mind and upon the walls Shall come out and congregate Vying for position in his words of creation Escaping their fate of lonliness As they live in his humble words
My pelican roams this pier He is a fearsome ruler Of waves and winds Planks beneath his feet Mere stepping stones He rests upon them Taking another flight Before the storm pelts him Old and wise like the fisherman Biding his time in wait He will read the clouds Bowing gracefully to stronger forces Passing him by in streams Air that he cannot hope to prevail He looks up to me from the planking Hoping the get his mackarel It is neatly tucked away in my pocket I want to see his anticipation Steadily rocking in his knees His head bowed with eyes looking up He knows he will get his fish Closer he moves speaking to me With his feet and his feathers The time has come-he has had enough He watches as I go into my pocket Oblivious to the procession of clouds Waves slapping up against the bracings Faster than lightning he accepts my gift Now he will dissapear and leave me Once again I am alone standing on the pier Watching the waves return to shore He will not come back today The storm approaches and the wise pelican knows It is time to seek shelter to keep from broken wings
You haunt my soul even my dreams More than could ever be known Deprivation from the natural sun Your clouded presence continues Lurking over this morning sky To others it seems coincidence Mere folly to mention it Of these brief incidents Your appearance only confirms That I still rest in the palm of your hand When you appear to me It is a slight reminder that I am not alone Still once in a while it chills me to the bone As you come without warning At times it finds me ill prepared Forgiveance is not necessary Come and go as you please Overhead you search me clearly In the whispers of the breeze
The B-25 not many alive The plane of World War 2 Many were downed in a hail of fire She went down with her faithful crew Some returned with barely a wing Sometimes with no flaps to land They bailed out reaching for safety Hoping for God's saving hand Like a child who falls from atop his bicycle Many a bruised knee occured Yet they still flew the B-25's Their vision was never blurred Many crews of close comradery Closer than brothers at times Never knowing if they would return Or end up behind enemy lines Yet they fought through thick and thin Giving their lives in defense So that we might live in freedom Without fear of recompense Gently they faded into history Happy to come home to their wives Never forgetting their fallen comrades Or the sacrifices made for other lives All were heroes in their own way Their recognition long over due Hail to the men who fight for America Under the red,white and blue
I'll not be bothering you any longer Apparently my efforts are in vain I came to you as a blindfolded lady Willing to accept your pain Seemingly you have no real interest Your responses are far and few Dissapearing into the woodwork Gone with the morning dew One way streets are limited Although at times you ache Silence is your answer to me I give it all and you take It doesn't make much sense to me To keep on going this way Coherently I think apparently You have nothing more to say I bid you farewell and wish you the best In all of your worldly endeavor I will remember you fondly my friend Quite possibly until comes never
Betwixt the world of clans Molded skulls arise making claim A skeleton king oversees Naked are they encompassed Skeleton devil who rides the horse Of blackness beyond the grave The crucifixions only serve Yet there is a conclave They will be struck down Mid way through their feast Bones will be reduced to powder Crushed beneath the feet Mourning cities will again rejoice The death of culprits risen Multiplication of all that is good Signification of the division The jester dances to the folly Appeasing in the name of peace His sterile lute pierces the air Putrid with vile disease Err in loftiness of the afflicted Evicted from their castles Blood filled moats surround it Human kings who once abounded Their royalty stripped bare Cleansing takes prevalence Its superiority is effectual Archaic characteristics Antiquated notions with merit Prior to the ending Of the terrible oppresors Who mingle with human hearts and minds
