Tired

life was silent this morning,

distant and confused;

I am tired of the pain,

I am tired of the suffering;

yet still You raise me up,

even now You carry me forward;

without You there is nothing;

the dreams grow,

the time is almost here,

the moment rushes forward,

payment past due,

the taste becomes bitter

inside this dry and dying

cauldron;

I am tired of the pain,

I am tired of the suffering;

yet still You raise me up,

even now You carry me forward;

without You there is nothing.

.

.

running out of skin

after 48 years

I finally got my first tattoo;

it took that long

to find the right

reason;

I think I am in trouble

though,

I found that

I actually liked

the pain,

it is a very liberating experience,

almost like becoming part

of some ancient, shaolin priest,

mystery cult;

as I was getting it done

I kept hearing

this voice whisper;

“very good grasshopper”

but now

one is not enough;

it is addicting

to say the least;

I am already thinking

about the next one;

and the one after that,

and the one after that,

and the one after that;

oh;

and the one after that;

quick;

I think I’m gonna need

some more skin.

.

.

waking up on the front lines

I hate that we are

what we are;

tell them

that he remained

true to the cause

right up till

the very end,

in spite of great

torture and torment

on the part of the enemy,

that he was a loyal

and faithful soldier

through it all,

despite deep personal

and philosophical

differences;

and so the damage

is done,

this war

does take its toll

on both the

living and the

dead;

sometimes the greatest

battle of them all,

is just waking up

in the morning,

knowing that

it is waiting right

where it left off;

sometimes living

is the hardest option

of them all;

but sometimes

that is all

there is.

.

.

Simplicity

We went camping over the weekend,

up in the mountains with the wolves,

we have a little pop-up camper,

it is nice;

feels like the clubhouse

you always wanted as a kid

but could never have;

it’s got a little refrigerator

and an air conditioner,

although we didn't

need it,

it was cold and rainy,

but that was okay,

we played cards,

kind of like the early days (in Hawaii),

when we were young and broke

with two little babies and cards

were all we could afford,

so we’d play night after endless night,

occasionally watching the little

black and white television we bought

at the base exchange,

three channels were all

we could get,

and that was all we ever needed,

now we spend thousands of dollars,

travel hundreds of miles,

living in an oversized box,

just to find the simplicity

of those younger days;

when we were poor

but too stupid

to realize it;

of course we’re a little to old

for sex in a box,

but we manage the best

we can;

and it’s ok too.

.

.

Undefeated

how did it ever come down to this?

out here in this eternal emptiness

with no way back home,

what river is this?

traveling endlessly

with no distant shore in sight;

we sell our lives without a clue,

never knowing the true value

of that which cannot

be bought,

destroying all

that is not known,

never understanding silent truths

which cannot be explained,

searching for answers without

any questions;

trying so desperately to defeat that

which cannot be defeated.

.

.

everything

did you know this time,

this moment is slipping

away forever,

if you did,

you would not let go of it

quite so easily;

there is a weariness to it all,

as it slowly pounds away,

eroding and weakening

to the point of extinction;

illusion exists;

but only for a moment,

revealing soft, hot, white shells

as they really are and,

they are very happy,

wallowing within their

silent ignorance,

blissfully unaware

there is more;

so much more;

everything has a beginning,

everything comes to an end;

that is the cruelest part

of it all.

.

.

dreams

who is right and

who is wrong?

I am like a beached whale;

struggling,

turning,

pulsing,

heaving,

fighting,

rolling,

rising,

falling;

and who is right

and who is wrong?

the silence remains,

undisguised,

unspoken,

forgotten,

hiding behind

darkened windows,

shadows within the

night,

silky smooth,

hot and bothered,

passionately pure,

blends of this,

shades of that,

pieces of the

unfinished puzzle,

none of it real,

none of it genuine,

none of it true;

who is right and

who is wrong?

within these walls

are many tales,

much laughter,

rivers of sorrow,

oceans of tears,

pools of sadness,

victims drowning

within their own blood;

we are all right,

we are all wrong;

winners and losers,

fighters and failures,

lovers and haters,

innocent and guilty,

doomed and redeemed;

together;

this is all there is,

this is all we have;

I cannot dream

what I do not know,

I cannot know

what I do not dream.

.

.