The neighbor took to drinking.

And then fell into a rut.

Following the appearances of deep thinking.

Then, got all bloated around the gut.

There were moments of rage and ranting.

Followed by hours of hot debates.

And in the sparkling twilight hours.

Where so many mapped their fates.

He went out without a whimper.

I swear he didn’t make a sound.

And fell into the ether where…

So many before have drowned.

I was thinking, partly listening. I was nodding, but deep in past.

You were talking. I know it’s shocking. You were thinking this can’t last.

The balance is fractured broken. . There’s a movement in the air.

All that talking, and no listening. Spinning stuck in, ‘I don’t care.’

As a child you are a victim, an adult, a volunteer.

So many wrongs, and self abuse, in time to disappear.

The unforgiven have a prison that is dark and wicked deep.

If the unforgiving don’t let go then neither one can sleep.

A great unknown, that time has shown and sometimes looks like change.

If letting go has left some marks, then no words can rearrange.

Tears of laughter and tears of joy, they look the same I guess.

You killed my dog, I’ll kill your cat has no virtues; I confess.

So try and find forgiveness, or maybe just understand.

That if I hurt you I must confess it wasn’t really planned.

There is no book/essay that I can recommend more than this for the aspiring writer:

The pain is psychological, like the pleasure in my head.

The wars were pathological and replaced the living with the dead.

Said you wanted peace. But I think that you want more.

Cause peace is just a lease if you don’t make for war.

It is all in preparation. Like the proverbs wisdom tell.

It’s just a sad, sad situation. To not know heaven here from hell.

My father was very careful and thorough: Only now, I can see and appreciate the brilliance in the absence of his efforts. To not have to unlearn anything is proving to be invaluable.

To have a lifetime of trial and errors without the bothersome interference of elders teaching and paving the way can now be reflected upon in a rich tapestry of original experience.

Thanks, Dad!

I was running out of something.

Like patience, love, or steam.

Maybe never had them anyway.

Just a wish inside a dream.

Getting jacked up on adrenaline.

From a haunting distant fear.

Something real not imagined.

From a time called yesteryear.

So I sat down and did nothing.

No assumptions, to let it go.

I prayed and said some words to God.

Might be best that you don’t know.

“There are 32 ways to tell a story, and I’ve used everyone, but there’s only one plot, things are not as they seem.

Jim Thompson

On some level

I must have liked my pains

Considering how long I lived with them.

Considering how long I invited them.

I don’t know if I knew I had choices.

I’ve lived several lives now.

I like the one I’m in now.

Parenting exposes character.