and it's been months since
I have had any friends... in fact,
it's been a long time since I've
been anywhere by myself.
you don't care anymore
and neither do I... you
live in your own little
world as I live in mine;
we've had more than our
shire and need no more.
I have lived through two television shows
"Combat" and "Tour of Duty," and they
both make killing the enemy look easy;
and, as our failure in Vietnam becomes
more acceptable, the more we will glorify
the honor of killing or being killed as if
it were the quintessential act of our faith.
"excuse me," he said
and the college boy stood there
in complete ignorance,
"excuse me," he said again louder...
the young man moved from his spot,
"sorry sir, I was just playing with this little toy,"
the man felt lost... ashamed of his
out-of-touch age and demeaner.
we pass through many phases
some call stages of our lives
and while many are easy
with which to deal... but,
there a few not so easy...
namely, the process by which
we age and its effect on our souls.
expressing our discomfort and discontent
saving the twenty-five cent words for guests,
we talk in circles like some kid's game
as our monotone voices bellow
out our futile and innocent commands,
we are a curious breed who
wants their partners to have their way
as long as it agrees with our way.
she returned my not unopened
writing on the outside that
she cared no more about me...
I reread and didn't blame her
erasing her name from the file.
I am a twentieth century inventor of thoughts,
a tinkerer of feelings... simple and brief,
my craft holds no popularity
outside my own jurisdiction,
I am please with my own response and
will continue to amuse myself.
she seems so young to be so well-developed,
and she knows the boy find her interesting,
the tears on her face seem real enough and
the sadness in her eyes indicates doubt.
life keeps us from complacency
with her inconsistencies...
we search for meaning and find truth
to be theoretical when all we want
is to have our lives feel worthwhile.
the voice on the radio sings,
yet, we are responsible for our own actions
and to blame others unnecessarily
is not to really love at all.
we live on opposite sided of opinion
justifying our points-of-view as we
are persuaded by counterpoints,
one by one we eliminate each other's
arguments only to find neither
of us were actually right from the getgo.
inside our mind, thoughts tumble
like clothes in a dryer until the
cycle is complete and those that
are still too wet can be removed.
forty years have passed through
this body and each one shows...
visible scars that have gained
me nothing about which to brag.
and, why are all these people looking for work?
what would you do if this had happened to you?
is the end result so important that we'd turn our
backs on humanity... on common decency?
we hold each other gently...
dancing around the room of our
imaginations for the last time;
we have finished for the last time,
just postponing our final waltz,
the anger from our lips gone and
all that remains is a bad taste.
we didn't even talk
out of turn and the
next thing you know
we are no longer needed,
so much for twenty years
of so-called loyalty,
it's worth less than the
powder and shells
it would cost me
to blow it all to hell.
we are like two strangers afraid
to speak or show our concerns,
we enjoy each other's company
less each day... we are products
of a social disease called marriage.
forty is not as bas as it seems,
at least I made it this far...
at twenty twice that was
nowhere in sight for me...
thirty was fun and lively
but forty is really old now.
morning arrives early...
usually before I'm ready to begin,
morning does not address me
like it really should and I
try to work around its inevitability.
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