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An Old Man's Sorrow...

As I sit here in my small, one-bedroom apartment, I reminisce about days that have come and gone. My notepad, with its yellow pages, sits idly on the desk beside me with nothing about it except for a small, black and silver pen lying on top, and a few lines of scribbled nothingness of dreams long since passed.
This chair that I am sitting upon, although constructed of hardwood and extremely uncomfortable, has been somewhat of a home for me for a long while. None the less, I cannot help but think aloud, “I hate this unholy piece of furniture.”
I stare at the bed to my left, with its faded, black bedspread aboard it, and I begin to wonder when it will be my time to fade out. I think about better days gone by and about all of the lovers who have shared those sheets with me.
As I come out of my daydream for a moment, I catch a glimpse of myself in a nearby mirror, and I do not recognize who it is that I am looking at. The only person that I am able to see is a worn out, beaten, old man. His graying hair and beard are a reminder to me that we are all just dust in the wind.
I look back to my bed and I think about a girl who shall remain nameless. A strong memory vividly comes back to me as I feel a slight pressure upon my chest.
Clear as the day itself, as if playing out in front of me like a movie, I can see myself, young in age, and that beautiful woman, making love. Her golden-brown hair, slightly damp from sweat, is draped down her back and around her shoulders as the younger embodiment of me lays there lost in ecstasy. 'Beautiful', I think.
I now see us lying there afterwards. My chest is to her back and my arm is wrapped around her, holding her close. I remember thinking about how scared, at the time, I was of falling in love, and I see myself say to her, “Babe, I care about you a lot, but I don't know if this is going to work out.”
She turns to look at me, a worried expression on her face, and she says, “What do you mean?”
“I don't know.” I reply as I turn and sit up.
I begin to pull my clothes on. The worried expression she was wearing on her face begins to amplify and her eyes begin to tear up. As I finish pulling my shoes onto my feet, she sits up and wraps her arms around me, resting her head on my back and she says, “Baby, I love you.”
Grabbing a white tee-shirt, I stood up quickly. After pulling it on, I leaned over to kiss her head, and then I walked to the door. With my hand on the doorknob, I looked at her and I said, “Maybe you shouldn't be here when I get back.”
She closed her eyes and lowered her head as tears streamed down her face. Not knowing what else to say, I just opened the door and walked out of the apartment.

I remember sitting at a bar a little while after that, thinking about what I had said. The truth is, I did not want her to go. If you asked me why I said that I did, even now, I still would have trouble answering you.

The feelings of dread that I had felt as I walked up the stairs to my third floor apartment a little later on that day were almost unbearable. It was almost a feeling of inherent fear, almost a knowing that she was not going to be there, yet I could not help but hope that she still was. My hand shook as I turned the doorknob.
As I gently pushed open the rickety, old door, I found myself greeted by.........absolute solitude. I remember walking through the apartment, into and out of the bathroom, just to check, but the place, ultimately, was empty. I saw myself sit down on the edge of my bed, my head lowering into the palms of my hands, and watching myself begin to cry. As I watched, the pain in my chest deepened and a strange feeling of warmth washed over me.
I stood up from my desk chair and walked over to my bed. I laid down and stretched out as I thought about my life and all of those wasted years without her.
I took off my glasses and I placed them on the nightstand. Then, I closed my eyes and thought deeply about that woman. Her beauty, her mind, her sweet scent, and all of the love she had had for me. Out loud, yet quietly, I said, “I love you too babe.”
Soon after, I drifted off into my eternal sleep...

Tanka I (Snowman)

The snowman was made
Icy-cold from snow that came
Icy heart inside
Children run, children hide from
The snow on that winter day.

I Think That I’m Trapped…

I’m just sitting here right now. No agenda, nothing to do, absolutely nothing. I keep finding myself looking toward the clock in the hope that at sometime, it may be five o’clock. I honestly think that the clock is making its way the other direction though. So, in order to keep sane, I’m just going to keep typing until I either get carpal tunnel syndrome, until it’s time to go home, or until I just feel like quitting.

So, have you ever worked at a cemetery before. It’s extremely peaceful, yet, extremely boring as well. Hmmm, strange tasting piece of candy I just ate, anyway… I’m bored, someone help me, I feel so trapped right now. Trapped in this cubicle, this building, behind those tall sandstone walls. I’m trapped, help.

I’ve looked at the names of about five-hundred dead folks today, along with seeing two car accidents on my way to work. The first was right as I was coming off of the bridge, I’m pretty sure I saw blood spattered all over the road. The second one was roughly two blocks away from the cemetery, I didn’t see anything, so it couldn’t have been that bad.

Anyway, time for a break…

Ok, I’m back, but, I think I’m going to run over to my other office and get some coffee. I’ll be right back…

Alright, once again, I am back. I just had the best tasting fudge I think I’ve ever had. I’m pretty sure I just developed eight cavities upon eating it. But, whatever, it was good.

So, tonight, my friend Shaina is coming over, and I think we may do a little bit of drinking, not too much, I have work in the morning, but enough to make me sleep well. Anyway, until I feel like writing again, here this is, and I write y’all later….

Huh?

Who am I? I am a man, a writer, a poet. I am a father, and at one time, I considered myself a husband. I am the son of four great parents, who, in turn, were the children of others. I am a Pagan, I worship the Goddess and the God. I am a person trying to make it in the world that I love. I am a heart-breaker, for, I have no knowledge of what kind of love suits me. I am at a loss for words.

What do I do? I write and write and write, trying to fill the empty void that is my existence. I read books about all subjects. I write my thoughts on what I read. I try to teach the world my philosophies in an attempt to make just one person happy, whoever that shall be. I worship my Divinity with what I try to make pure love in my heart.

Where am I now, and where am I going? I am here now. The title of this place is not necessary. I am there now. The latter remains the same as before. I am going somewhere, as we all shall, eventually, and more than likely, eventfully.

Why am I here, writing this? I write and write and write because that is what I wish to do. Perhaps it is my preemptive gateway to my own thamatology. Strawberry fields forever.

When is it? When is what?, I ask myself. When will this be finished? I'm sure you can figure out the pattern now. When is but a solitary question encompassing a certain type of rhythmic referencing tool created by man. When? is not important, for, it constrains you and I to time.

How has this come to be? I have closed my eyes and began to write, and on the tablet in front of me are scribbles of some other nature. Perhaps my subconscious reaching out to captivate my senses, perhaps not. I give way to the impossible.

Random...

My life, as of late,
Has been quite strange.
Lots of adventures and convos,
And quite a bit of change.
A sea-monkey colony,
On the desk to my side,
A cemetery job to go to,
Everyday of my life.
I owe taxes like it's cool,
To some folks I don't know,
I think for some school,
But it's cool though.
But I'm tired right now,
So I'll bid you farewell,
I'll post something soon,
And I hope your lives are all swell...