Reason

We often times talk ourselves into being something we're not.
My drunken state can form clear thoughts and make decisions,
with some focus and effort exerted on my behalf. Dreams are
different. In my dreams my guardian came to me and held me
back. Just knowing that she was there made a world of difference.
I tried to reason myself awake but my dream took over.
It took me to a familiar place, yet I didn't recognize it. A joy
came over me as though I belonged there, a feeling I've only
felt once before. I slowly began to wake up, finding myself
trying to hold onto my dream. Perhaps if I make it a memory
it will change me. I'll reason that it wasn't a dream, but an
experience.

Challanges

What draws us to doing? Is it the struggle?
Perhaps it is the peace of mind and feeling.
Accomplishment is a great reward. Like a baby
first learning to walk, my greater challenge
now faced one step at a time. I may trip and
lose my balance, but I believe that soon I will
be running with the best of them, without the
crutches that seem to make my steps painless.
My games of stooping low until near crawl
will stop. I've lost once and after learning to
stand tall, there will be no sense in playing again.

Conversation

Bring down your nose and move your lips
Entertain the crowd with well spoken quips
Speak your ideas without versed scripts
And don't be afraid if your main thought flips.

Don't try to pretend to be a sage
Locking your mind into a closed cage.
Just as a book, let folks read your page.
And don't let your passion turn into rage.

Thinking too much can be a curse
Preventing your actions, or even worse
conforming your words to predefined verse.
Instead let your worries be simple and terse.

Irony

Roscoe, the old Polak. Just as I thought of stashing the keys I saw him thumbing his way home. To my surprise, he spoke the language without ever spending time in the old country. Caring of his arthritis poisoned mom, he is trying to rehabilitate the bum shoulder preventing him from cutting lumber. His mother was taken by the Germans at fourteen, forced into labor until the end of the war. Father was freed by the Brits and soon took arms for the Allies. Now widowed, the old lady laughed saying that she wouldn't give a penny more for a Russian than a German. My curiosity rests with how fresh this statement is. Roscoe is taking steps, hoping to do some more schooling at his ripe age. His favorite was creative writing, and I now face myself with a staple of papers; thoughts from a month of being locked away. Traffic violations he says. The old lady says I'm no longer a stranger and I made promise to come back in weeks time. Always did feel at home around Polaks.

"From on day to the next I go;
Smiling and hollering tallyho.
Can't say for a fact;
This is the way I should act.
The illusion it creates is false;
I myself am aware of its faults.
All depends on one's point of view;
To society or yourself, will you be true?"
-Roscoe

"A smile and kind word can provide warmth for three months of winter." ~

"A solution to stress is to get hilariously drunk, albeit a temporary one." ~

"I am not hard to please;
Just a simple hug and squeeze.
A friendly look and smile;
Makes everyday worthwhile.
Just to revel in the presence;
of the auro of your essence.
Of all the things that could be;
A closer shared walk with thee.
My life is already complete;
Since the day God let us meet.
Without His intervention from above;
I would never have experienced love.
Even though we are now apart;
The memories are locked forever in my heart."
- Roscoe

Memories

At sixteen I started to scribe.
Honest depictions of my mental works
flooded the space, and were left in a
corner, protected by shadows.

Depictions of after school meals, in my lonesome bedroom.
Music dancing through the room, between rays of
sunshine which baked my bed, making it scream to
be flipped like a Saturday morning pancake.

These memories were frozen as statues, to be admired
at any given moment. Collections grew and, as always,
expected to stay put. They didn't, and like anything
that's expected to be around, they're nowhere to be found.

Roaming

Put the keys in my hand and I'll give back a smile. There's something about being on the road that burns the troubles away. Perhaps the most persuading point to my many aimless drives was that of possibilities. Sitting hunched at a computer walled in from the outside allows for few chance happenings. The road, however, opens the traveler to vast array of opportunities. This may perhaps hint at my eagerness towards offering rides. One of the few methods of sparking conversations. Yet the sparsity of such events lead me to question to effectiveness of my wondering. Do I simply paint pretty pictures to pacify yearning for interaction? Counting the hours spent behind the wheel, I quickly realize that I may in fact be walling myself in a different setting, one on wheels traveling at 55 M.P.H.