goodsitizen

Words matter

Category: Uncategorized

Weathered and Grey

I noticed my first grey hair today and I wasn’t shocked like I thought I should be.

I didn’t feel older than I already do,

I didn’t look older than I already am.

I already think I am too old for certain endeavors, certain experiences, and certain adventures.

I remember when I was too young for all things now taken for granted;

the daily activities of a weathered man.

These very complaints I hear from others.

” I’m too old for that, way past my prime.”

” I’m too young for this, it’s not merely my time.”

These words become repetitive as we are waiting to die.

I didn’t want these thoughts with my first grey hair, 

so I made up my mind with that cold scared stare.

I would have a word with God while waiting to die.

We are never too young or too old to experience life,

that is the only gift given with each day and each night.

With each breath we are given we must do something right,

to man or to woman, to earth or to wild.

We are given so much time, thus why we are special.

We must look after all of mom’s earth even if just friendly smiles. 

The accumulation of wealth has replaced our actions.

Our minds are lost thinking we have to decide,

but we must live life until the moment we die.

Share with your sisters.

Share with your brothers.

Share with the ocean, the mountains, the feathered.

Share this gift we unwrap every day.

Share this gift as your hair turns to grey.

Park Life

All the time spent next to you on my couch and in my thoughts,

playing games and chasing shots.

Holding in silence the moments  lost,

You exhaled, I pushed away, we drifted apart.

All those nights alone in my head,

never put thought to paper from pen.

Not that you didn’t deserve it,

you oh so did.

Not that I didn’t think it,

I’m just a kid.

Too much focus on the micro brew selection instead of your vanilla scented neck.

Dying to have a taste with my hands upon your waist and a giggle as I nibble.

This is where my future comes alive!

If not for my indecisive nature and movie fiction story lines,

I could have a shot at happiness with you asleep by my side,

with you wrapped in my quilt, reading the lines on the crooked sheets.

The lines show your life and where you’re supposed to be.

I couldn’t read them but I knew,

so I did what any man would do.

With bouts of silence I wore a disguise to never look into those big green eyes,

this suffering character isn’t you,

you tried to show me the life you knew.

I fought with contempt and so much haste,

love is a struggle and in bad taste.

Word for word with tears in your eye,

I held you close so you couldn’t see mine.

This wasn’t the time nor the place.

I wouldn’t fight or tie up shoes and chase.  

The worst excuse for a man and human race. 

My thoughts, my life, my hate, my dark.

Do you ever think about those days in the sun, down the street, on the grass, 

in the park?

We weren’t asleep just absorbing every moment and imagining we never had to leave.

I can feel the grass tickle your skin as I lay here alone.

Eyes are heavy,

thoughts are spinning,

walls are building,

days are ending.

Feel the moonlight shining in, through the shades on photo tin.

Take a picture, watch this life

go down in flames, no love in sight.

Words matter?

Off in the distance on these grassy fields,

searching for a truth among cardboard cutouts and mirages of perfection.

Bugs crawl, playing with the hair on my legs,

the truest feeling about this day.

Watching for movements and stories told.

Stories and lies, heard them all before.

A days projection is merely exaggeration.  Can one tell hopefulness from pure imagination.

Taken out of context it may all be true.

When put into perspective, your friends are the ones you’d save.

Across the valley and through the flames, the words expelled are children’s tales. 

What ends up of the words you tell?

Do they go into the abyss when no one listens?

Do they stay in your thoughts when no one asks?

Do they manufacture disbelief under your own pen?

Words matter when they state the truth,

even if no one believes, not me or you.

When searching for movement in a far off land,

Remember that motions lie,

actions pretend.

Remember that paper is the earth and God is the pen.

We must learn to love despite the lies,

off in the distance people go on with their lives.

Feel the sun beat down on pasty white skin,

grass itches every moment, while across the field

the truth is expressed from what they are told.

Lessons are given while some grow old.

No one may listen, the day will die,

but the book is always open and the pen always writes.