The waves they kept on coming.

Landing on what we call the shore.

And faded back into abyss.

And keep coming back for more.

Me? I sat there drinking.

Into the deepest darkest night.

There was something in that magic.

And you were out of sight.

I swam into the ocean.

The sea, the salt, the sand.

Can’t say why I keep coming back.

Except… nothing better planned.

There was little more than boredom and a rumor of a war.

And 2 days of the weekend, I just didn’t know what for.

So I searched for deeper meaning, as I nodded off to sleep.

And took it all as gratitude for the lessons were not cheap.

I remember when I used to drink and that raging faceless whore.

The party that was out of reach and the need for just one more.

I took it to the limits of, I nearly lost my mind.

There were bruises and concussions and lost keys I’d never find.

Now I suffer from the Boredom, but the pain it isn’t long.

I still don’t suffer fools too well and can admit when I am wrong.

The sun passed moving shadows.

The shadows hid your flaws.

Hid is to strong a word.

At least it gave them pause.

I was contemplating something.

That might cause you to grin.

Thought of nothing short of self harm.

Or just once, take it on the chin.

I left you on a park bench.

And I swear I saw a tear.

It was such a perfect silhouette.

Not one could be its peer.

I left looking for some action.

Up the road in Korea town.

She had that look of satisfaction.

Said, “I won’t let you down.”

When you tell everyone to ‘Fuck Off’

Don’t be surprised when they Fuck Off.

I’d been searching for the answers… When finally she came along.

Preforming miracles, curing cancers. Giving music to the song.

She taught and gave directions. Even when I didn’t ask.

She let me know my fortune. In her sunshine I could bask.

She showed me all my foibles. And how little I evolved.

I felt criminally unworthy, so I left her. Mystery solved.

The fool spoke the truth and was banished from the kingdom.

The road was long and winding with no clear direction home.

But how could there be a home without the fool?

Nature abhors a vacuum and another fool will always appear and speak out of turn.

Which of course does no good to the original fool except to offer a reminder to the others that his was not an isolated incident.

Being the original fool in this story, who has recovered from said banishment, I try to teach this Proverb above all others…

Even a fool who remains silent can appear wise.

Money is a bit like attention.

The only thing wrong with either of them is when you have too much or too little.

The bad luck raised suspicions, on a path that was beat down.

No one dared to look within or see the wise men in the town.

It was happening for eons, as long as Grandad could recall.

Like a dark foreboding plank walk or a dream in which you fall.

Until the child spoke her words that, “Maybe somethings wrong with me?”

So we made a meeting with the Doc, down at Family Psychiatry.

The doctor raised awareness and we all took a look.

Things are looking so good now, might take Grandma off the hook.

Now life is far from perfect however the family’s not so sad.

Looking in the mirror, not blaming blind luck, good or bad.

Where you stumble, there’s the gold.

Life’s a circle in time that’s rolled.

They never told you, you never knew.

You closed your mind and that time flew.

There is a song that’s strong and true.

You learn the lessons that failure grew.

You play the music, you write the song.

You stay in right, you learn from wrong.

Chances were the premium at the chances store.
Called up their proprietor and asked for just one more.
Inside information suggested relocate.
When they closed the chances store, it sealed the users fate.
With no plans for the future and the future, it is here.
Who knew that the sun would rise and whisper last nights fear?
So we headed for the highway, which ended at the light.
Looked upon arrival, no chances store in sight.
Searching for the answers that will ease the fears.
Some will stand there crying and find few are buying tears.
All are someone’s baby lost along the way.
Strangers and sojourners who have lost the need to pray.
And I say, “Pray”

Dennis Mantin