She said, “You’re the most kind and generous person I’ve ever met. “

I said, “Then why do you tell people that I’m abusive. “

Her answer was at the ready:

“Your kindness and generosity prove that you’re abusive because nobody could be that kind.”

OW!

You used to call me Brother and sister I don’t know why.

Once  you were my Sister but that is long goodbye.

There’s a scar above that blister and I know you’ve had it tough.

I don’t know how to let this go but I know I’ve had enough.

I’ve taken all I’m taking, all the rest I’ve left is yours.

There’s a message in the leaving, a hope for finding cures.

Charles Bukowski is credited with asking one of my favorite questions…

“Do you remember who you were before the world told you, who you were supposed to be?”

‘They never told me who to be. The world didn’t care enough, which by omission made me very lucky.’

My plans were ripe for alter and change was in the air.

Nothing ventured and little gained amidst cries for foul and fair.

I would have left her in the future, but it never got that far.

So far from truly knowing, just who and what we are.

I know I said I loved her but there’s no way that can be true.

I tried so hard to make things work with chances far and few.

And then she got so angry from this well of ancient rage.

Something happened long ago, so I bounced and turned the page.

Excuses are not necessary but they make us feel so good.

Its all about the play of life in this world of could and should.

Rain is rushing down the gutter.

Washing all that’s in the way.

It’s either one thing or the other…

Bad or good, it’s all in play.

Doesn’t matter what you’re thinking.

Which way that wind is gonna blow.

If you’re down there in the gutter.

Only one way up I know.

I’ve had this running battle.

Avoiding normal was a fued.

On the farm with hay and cattle.

Not gonna be that dude.

A one way ticket to the town.

Now it’s years since I am here.

With all the crazy going around.

I want normal now I fear.

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.

I fear if God is watching then he must be plenty bored.

Not much new is going on, still driving that old Ford.

The bums are still out hangin and the drunks are down and out.

The lovers have all gone inside and the agnostics have their doubt.

The investors lost their money and the leaves are turning brown.

The church it seems so empty and that sun is going down.

She’s been quiet in the suburbs; walks a dog on cul-de-sac.

She’s getting wise on wine and proverbs; and she’s not coming back.

There’s a smile on my face now; I’m afraid its here to stay.

The cul-de-sac goes round and round; so quiet far away.

The thunder rolled on night sky.

The lighting cleared the air.

We just layed there sleeping.

Somehow, with whom, somewhere.

We left with moon and stars in sky.

To the place past Thunder Cove

In my dreams, I heard of distant love

And on to home we drove.