The Terror came in midweek and sat upon the shore.

In the space that lies between, the beauty and the roar.

The strangers came to take me to a land so far away.

Nor one of them said for sure the time, they’d return for me someday.

There’s a distance in the whispering, that can’t be heard by some.

It’s quiet and it’s haunting with the soft beat and a hum.

It’s all that I hold on to when the madness comes around.

And I’m swimming in the waters where parts of me have drowned.

There’s nothing to be taken that is not of life or light.

Worth any more than spit or gold; it’s courage for the fight.

Sometimes when I’m sleeping they are reaching out somehow.

There’s so much more that I don’t know… and all we have is now.

I forgive you!

Not because I am so spiritual or high and mighty; noooo!

And I forgive you not because I believe that you are more sick mentally than you are evil… and yes I do think that this is true.

I forgive you because I know that my forgiveness will bother you.

Tolkien’s Night

When I was a kid in the 1960s, the farmers could be heard lamenting about a changing world that they feared.

Beautiful stone cobbled streets of small towns were replaced with “The Shopping Mall Generation!” AND cities grew. “Who would grow the food?” The farmers asked.

But did anyone see this coming down the pike? A generation so smart that they make money while they sleep?

A generation who became so important that not having children became for them, the best option. Which is probably the best thing since we can no longer determine genders…

I am not afraid. I am not in control. I am embarrassed… or am I entertained?

One generation builds so that the next can enjoy life and the children of that generation from this lap of luxury can destroy.

This is the cycle.

Repeat or break?

We dined on tea and oranges.

On the sand down by the sea.

There were possible storm warnings.

That escaped both you and me.

The dingy left the harbor.

The sail snapped by noon.

The winds grew dark and heavy.

Under far too soon, typhoon.

They’ll be no more tea and oranges.

Or walks down at the park.

The dreamers dream is heavy now.

And faint hopes are growing dark.

It’s raining in the valley.

Everything is getting wet.

Except her love for me, you see.

I tried but could not get.

It’s raining in the highlands.

I’m thinking in old song.

Even babies raised by wolves.

Know when they don’t belong.

The rains a distant memory.

Thinking about traveling to the coast.

I live sometimes just in my mind.

It’s the rain I miss the most.

I’ve been falling out of love.

I’ve been feeling out of touch.

Been slapped by hand in glove.

And the pains not bad as such.

Been down… but there’s no panic.

Between Princess and the Fool.

Not feeling at all a romantic.

Silence will be the rule.

I will ride this out till doomsday.

Got plans and hopes inspire.

These voices in my head at play.

They all singing to the choir.

The light slices the darkness.

The blues are looking grey.

The gifts they keep on coming…

Here comes another day.