Time for another poem...

Split Personality

Dreams that I hold dear
Of moving forward, without fear,
Are extinguished by the light of day
Something has obviously gone astray.

Where is the person that I used to be?
Who is this stranger that is now me?
I cannot pinpoint the day or the hour,
But the old me's been killed by a higher power.

Driving down the freeway in the middle of the night

Sometimes a song captures exactly how you are feeling at a certain point in time, almost as if by magic. Music is nourishment to the heart and soul.

Timely lyrics to a song (by Papa Roach) that came on the radio as I was driving tonight...

"I tear my heart open, I sow myself shut
My weakness is that I care too much
And my scars remind me that the past is real
I tear my heart open just to feel

Drunk and I'm feeling down
And I just wanna be alone
I'm pissed cause you came around
Why don't you just go home
Cause you channel all your pain
And I can't help you fix yourself
You're making me insane
All I can say is

I tear my heart open, I sow myself shut
My weakness is that I care too much
And our scars remind us that the past is real
I tear my heart open just to feel

I tried to help you once
Against my own advice
I saw you going down
But you never realized
That you're drowning in the water
So I offered you my hand
Compassion is in my nature
Tonight is our last stand

I tear my heart open, I sow myself shut
My weakness is that I care too much
And our scars remind us that the past is real
I tear my heart open just to feel

I'm drunk and I'm feeling down
And I just wanna be alone
You shouldn't ever come around
Why don't you just go home?
Cause you're drowning in the water
And I tried to grab your hand
And I left my heart open
But you didn't understand
But you didn't understand
Go fix yourself

I can't help you fix yourself
But at least I can say I tried
I'm sorry but I gotta move on with my own life
I can't help you fix yourself
But at least I can say I tried
I'm sorry but I gotta move on with my own life

I tear my heart open, I sow myself shut
My weakness is that I care too much
And our scars remind us that the past is real
I tear my heart open just to feel"

The Woods

No light but the moon
Illuminating my way.
Trees embrace me
There is nothing to say.

A rustle to my left
Should cause alarm
But my breath is steady
There’s nothing to harm.

A moment of peace
When everything is known.
Mysteries unveiled
Destinies shown.

Orion guards the scene
From his post in the sky.
Fragile human and demi-God
Alone, him and I.

There’s no better classroom
Than the woods at night.
Only when fear is conquered
Comes the gift of sight.

A Sad Obituary

On a recent vacation I came across an obituary in the local newspaper of a small agricultural town between point a and point b. It was for a 98 year old woman who stared back at me, smiling through glasses in a neat and tidy flower print shirt. But, as I read her story, I read between the lines and it made me incredibly sad.

She had been born in a town only 15 miles or so from the same one in which she died. She had six children who also lived in the same town, along with ten grandchildren in the same town, and great-grandchildren.

I realize that my reaction was filtered through my own experiences and therfore may or may not have been a fair assumption of her life. But, I still couldn't help but think...

What made her stay rooted?

Was she truly happy, or had she convinced herself that she was?

Why had her children never left, or her grandchildren?

Blog Confessional...

Odd things that fascinate me, in no particular order:

The lives of Truckers. They are kind of like modern day Pony Express riders, only they have more horses under their asses. Whenever I pass a trucker, I can't help but wonder what his (or her!) little 'man/woman cave' in the back of their cab looks like. Is it tastefully decorated, with clean linens and grooming utensils carefully packed away in a bag to cart into a truck stop shower? Or, is it a stench filled festering pocket of dandruff and sloughed skin cells, used condoms (or, ew, 'used' tube socks), with linens that haven't been washed for 2 years? Or, worse yet, is there some poor soul chained up against their will just praying for some passing driver to somehow sense their turmoil and alert the authorities? These are just a few of the things I ponder when I see a trucker on the road.

I am also fascinated with Trailer Parks. They are such interesting snippets of Americana. Like the great philosopher Forrest Gump said - "Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you're going to get." Well, the same goes for Trailer Parks. You could be venturing into a neighborhood worthy of being the set for the Forth Sequel to "The Hills Have Eyes", or you could be venturing into a neighborhood full of Easter egg colored trailers, each with tidy little astroturf yards with friendly Garden Gnomes peering at you from every nook. Yes, you never know what you're going to get with Trailer Parks, and that's why they fascinate me.