There is color in the flowers.

And moisture in the rain.

The rocks are hard and heavy.

And the soil holds all pain.

I’ve been dancing in the meadows.

I don’t dare to stay too long.

And only under darkened skies.

Where the thunder plays my song.

No more confab with the foolish.

Or the prideful, boastful voice.

I take it to the world at large.

And pretend I have a choice.

Sometimes, I miss delusions.

In the busy city streets.

And the chaos and confusions.

But not the phones and texts and tweets.

Two men in their 30’s are talking. Actually, one is talking, and the other is listening:

“What are all the little dogs about? I mean, I can understand if you want a pit bull or a Rottweiler or a German Sheppard for protection… but these little lap dogs… I think they are replacing babies for this generation… this country is fucked man. This place is going in the shitter in a big way. “

It’s been strange and dislocated, but then again, it’s always been.

Except for all those blessings; in times of faith that go unseen.

I’ve been praying here in silence. Some words I share with God.

You’ve been missed. Not really here. I suspect you’re on the nod.

A wind that whistles through the trees. Sometimes, I hear the howl.

I had tried to make it up to you and, in the end, threw in the towel.

Sometimes, I hear the laughter. Sometimes, I hear the storm…

Sometimes, I don’t talk about it… Sometimes, I hope you’re warm.

They held on with great fury.

Leaving marks of letting go.

And the blood it stained: don’t worry.

All scars heal, don’t you know?

They were courting with disaster.

Then again, was nothing new.

On the street, he walked right past her.

There were smiles. Resentments grew.

They got old and lost all memories.

In the end, they up and died.

They were buried by their enemies.

And in their eulogies, they all lied.

There is something in the water.

In the air like flakes of snow.

Take the narrow to the broader.

I’m just learning letting go.

You are cold, and you are distant.

It’s all tell now and no show.

If I were just more consistent.

I could teach this letting go.

There’s a moral to this story.

Builds a plot like mold will grow.

There’s no need to say you’re sorry.

You taught me well this letting go.

I am cold and I am distant.

I’m all tell now and no show.

You teach well, so persistent.

Such a gift this letting go.

Said they wanted story.

But the story wasn’t short.

In all, it’s pain and glory.

Was less story, more report.

I wasn’t in a giving mood.

My moods were out of sort.

Accusations that I was rude.

I am, too tall? I must retort.

We were snowed in like Alaska.

South of Dixie Mason line.

It felt like the world was ending…

So we doubled up on shine.

There’s no moral to this story.

Except for snow, it melts like rain.

And if you double up on moonshine.

You will probably go insane.

She was wide on bathroom stairwell.

Painful slow in her decent.

Impatient from all the waiting.

She zigged, I zagged, and down she went.

I called for reinforcements

Had a piss but not too long.

Please come to Gus’s Taco.

And bring someone who is strong.

In the land of faith and plenty.

Some say you never knew.

To look the ‘Gift Horse’ in the mouth.

Bit off more than cud could chew.

You sat in view of judgments.

In the fields, you moo out loud.

If you are standing in the spotlight.

Just tell them you are proud.

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.