I broke free. I tore the binds of time. I shattered the hour glass into a thousand pieces and scooped up a handful of sand. Millions of grains running slowly through my fingers. As if I’d reached into the sky and plucked out stars. Yes. So many grains of stars, slipping so quickly away. And I could control how quickly they ran by. I went forward, to a time when I was old, looking back at the young man I am now. Marveling at my potential. Wondering where it all went wrong. How did I miss the opportunities that seem so easy to grab hold of in retrospect? I saw me. Standing there. Wind in my hair. My arms outstretched. Trying desperately to make the shadows of my arms look like wings, so maybe my shadow could learn to fly. My eyes closed. And it began to come together. One word finding the next like they’d always belonged to each other.
The feeling of the world whipping by. It made me want to laugh or maybe just to cry. And then I came back. Aware of the things I’d know when I was ninety three. Wondering at the wonder of me. Old crippled hands and eyes that could barely see. And, like that winged shadow in the wind, somewhat free. The arc of the story line of my youth blurring the lines between fiction and truth. As if there is such a thing. A difference between fact and what someday could be. And I learned potential. And potential energy. And the shot from a bullet racing forward in space to finally see just what it is I’m supposed to be.
A poet perhaps. With words running from my cup in a steady stream of red wine. Traveling upwards, breaking the laws of gravity and flowing back into the bottle. Then corked and returned to the wine cellar of my mind. Then uncrushed, unplucked and carefully placed back upon the vine.
The sands in my hands are planets now and suddenly they all have aligned. And with it I find my self defined. In an old mans wrinkles, so stately across the brow that rests comfortably now over two hazel green eyes that are somewhat blind. And then back once again to me in the wind. Looking for love. Looking for something that is out there. Caught in the haze that made the sun a brilliant orange today. Caught in the smoke in my lungs, like words I’m holding in, as I fight what I really want to say.
And what is it? What is that thing just down the lane, in the house on the right, breathing clouds from its mouth upon the window pane? It is my hope of love in a time that is covered with frost. A bartering for a something at too great a cost. It is two mouths connected and singing in perfect harmony. Moving up and down together, all tongues and lips, and teeth that fit so seamlessly. The most beautiful music hid in the lyrics they say with no words, or music, or rhythm, or rhyme. Only the thump of there hearts is keeping the time. And they will sing this song for me. This song that says we shall be free.
We shall be free.
In love we’ll live.
In love we’ll die.
In love we shall be free.
  ¶ 2:33 PM 0 comments

  Weathering the tempering fire of my friends. Finding means that we can convince ourselves will justify the ends. And the truth will be found between straight shots and cigarettes in parking lots. Because our victory is in the stem of the champagne glass and the knowledge is in the slate hung before the class like a dead man on the end of a rope with not much of an opinion but a whole hell of a lot of hope. And we are the ice in the glacier that turns it blue. And we are the secret we will always keep between just me and you. And we are the one in a million odds that you’ll face. And we are the ever increasing cadence that pushes forward the pace. And we are the lost boys. And we are the butchered sheep. And we are the rolling hills to a cliff that some call steep. And we are our stories told in scars on our arms. And we are the seeds planted in yesterday’s farms. And we bleed ink. We have no time to think. We answer the thrown gauntlet of the world that fears us. And we are the falling into arms with nothing but mere trust. And we breathe space and time and ride the spine of a mountain blown black by rain gone bad. And we are gnashing teeth and the sword that has never seen a sheath. And the clown make-up bleeding down a ragged face that has known the circus far to long. We are the voice that sings out to the chorus but mumbles the verses because we don’t really know the words to the song. And we don’t know who we are. And we are better for it by far. And we are that black as night star. The one you can’t see but you just know is there. We are what lies between the chessboard and the chair. We are that roaming band of gypsies who never play fair. We are the Mad Hatter… and the March Hare. We are, because we choose to be. We are what we want to be. We are thousands upon thousands that call ourselves few. We are one. We are many. We are we. We are you. We dance around a final question we all want to be true. Needing to know, but not daring to ask…Who are you?  ¶ 11:39 AM 0 comments