I recognized my nature.

Not much was steeped in good.

There was this strange sensation.

Like maybe I just should.

Forget it all and start a new.

Take the narrow view to wide.

Take my head out from my ass.

And maybe look outside.

Not all is gain or glory.

Not all is pain and strife.

The road the path the choices made.

It’s a wild ride this life.

I was weak with sweats and dreaming.

In a fever wretched with guilt.

No one spoke or shared a thought.

Not a whisper, and silence built.

I was swimming in a blue zone.

Dark hues spun and mixed with grays.

The smell of fear filled our lungs.

Not one thought of brighter days.

Here it is, soon Christmas Eve.

First year without a tree.

The world didn’t end, and I’m still here.

So many things are still to be.

We’ve been in the battle royal.

Taking chin shots in our stride.

Telling myths so we don’t spoil.

Laughing loud, the truth inside.

It is such a lie, all this beauty.

Of Kings, Whores and Lonely Men.

No more joy. Accounts and duty.

Bite your tongue and count to 10.

Having thoughts lots about dying.

And other things that I don’t know.

Its not the fear that’s got me down.

Just that I don’t want to go.

Now sure I know I have no choice.

Has been made abundant and clear.

This transformation is all the rage.

I just kinda like it here.

I hear all this complaining.

What’s wrong about this and that.

You never really stood a chance.

With an attitude like that.

Everyone is cheating.

Except for you and me…

Options here? Slim and none.

Really, none that I can see.

The dreamers left the highlands.

Rumors are they’re coming back.

To the hope of honest smiles.

Where good story fades to black.

I was lost last night in forests.

Traveled far and deep with you.

There was peace and not much cheating.

Then I woke. That’s what I do.

My sister Joyce died on Friday. I found out today. The day I became a senior.

When I was younger, I never thought I’d get this old. I don’t know what Joyce thought.

Joyce was 10 years older than me, and we had different fathers. I was told by my mother that Joyce was my cousin the first time I saw her. Mom died the next month.

She was given up for adoption to my mother’s brother Billy and his wife. Her real father died in a car accident before she was born. Our mother got tuberculosis and couldn’t cope with parenting. Her adopted mother died when she was a toddler, and her adopted father, my uncle Billy, died in a car accident before she was 10.

I have never known anyone more saturated in tragedy.

RIP Joyce 🙏

Sipping tea on a Saturday.

All day, morning, afternoon.

At midnight, I’m a senior.

This growing old has come so soon.

I thought I’d die much younger.

I was wrong, guess I am blessed.

Don’t know why time does fly.

I’m so guilty. There; I’ve confessed.

I don’t know why my baby loves clowns.
Whose painted on tears never fall down.
I don’t know what she sees in their eyes
Perhaps the line between horror/surprise…

I don’t know why my baby can’t sing.
Why carnival music isn’t her thing.
It fills my head when I’m at the fair.
Searching for clues in clowns everywhere.

I don’t know why she screams at night.
I hope it’s not why she holds me so tight.
Because I’m the type I’m weak for love.
Carnival music I rise above.

Is it the pain or is it the tears?
For some carnival crime from yesteryears.
Maybe it’s you, maybe I’ll never know.
Maybe it’s me, baby let go.

(chorus)

Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall. Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
All the kings horses and all the kings men.
Tried and they tried but she fell down again.

Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall Humpty Dumpty had a great fall
She went to her shrink ended up at the mall.
Humpty Dumpty wanted it all.

Dennis Mantin