Thin Palace of Thought

Rain
It falls
Tears
They run
Sunlight
No more
Once
I understood
Never
More now
Peaceful
Transition coming
Wait
For winter
Cold
Breathes warmth
Autumn
Feels familiar
Riddles
I digress
Reading
This note
Peculiar
Minds wonder
Amazed
By simplicity
Confounded
In waves
Endings
They end

Pecan Trees and Circles around the Moon

Who won the race--tortoise or the hare?
The turtle was pedestrian but he was true
That rabbit had ambition yet was confused
What race do you run--is it worth your while?
Do your blood, sweat, and tears win medals
Would you hang these idols on your wall
Maybe you're just wasting time on foolish ideals
I knew a decorated man once, who gained nothing
From his material of bells and shining whistles
Ask yourself--who will win this race?
For it is the pace of life to which you must adhere
No matter your medals, it will expire without consent
And will anyone recognize the dusty trinkets forgotten
Or will they remember that you were kind to them
That you loved them with all your mortal soul
It matters not to me, For I am not the judge of things
But an observant watcher, with an ever scrolling pen
I mourn for those who run to death without any gait
To pause and breathe beauty before they lose their way
I speak these things from a travel hardened scroll
Though all experiences aren't merely physical
Some exist only where the mind can reach them
And others of years past forget to exist at all
I started my race as the bright and bouncing hare
I fell into a looking glass and every sordid hole
When I wandered back to the surface again
The shell was firmly upon my tired back
I gladly am the tortoise in the Augusts of my years
I know no hurry with which to finish forever
All of my traveled notions come at such a price
I have not seen that pecan tree in many sunrises
Yet my mind will forever paint the place for me
Even turtles can remember some things clearly

Sixth Day Adventures

Throw that shirt to the floor
There is no more use in it
The silly tag scrapes your back
The logo causes much pain
Red isn't your color anyhow
How did you come by it
There are these things and more
To ponder on a Saturday
I hope you don't move that slow
When your racing against time
Its always 8:02am in this place
I think you should grab some java
That will make you feel better
At least you will tell yourself so
You might even be convincing
Such a good liar you have become
No chores are left to your mind
And the smell of chimney's are paused
But you no longer run anyway
You lost your way amongst the wind
No one calls upon your path
They see what you feel inside
Its sickening knot keeps them aloof
And you forgot to love yourself again
Thats the trouble with the ups and downs
Up so high that you forgot to hit your knees
Down so low that you refuse the mirror
It has a story to tell of its own
I know you've heard it all before
You should listen to it anyhow
It may help on a Saturday Evening
You may yet sing a song again
I'm sure a week's not too far off

A Memory of the Cavalry

Who were we that stomped through sordid places
Our laughter burst into the atmosphere of conviviality
We had no where to go, but we didn't need to leave
There was us and there was them, and we were us
We ruled the world, We were kings, We were riders
The future could not come, Now was all there was
We would endure forever in our jolly ways
I wish I could tell you how I felt in them days
Before it was over, When we still knew the way
Some of the best days of my life happened there
I wasn't always sick, We weren't always lost
We never knew when the time had came
We missed our buses, We were late for tomorrow
Owning up to everything I've learned in thirty years
The windows are as short as the sound of doves
The old familiar place with the bent objects on the shelf
The place where we could be at home and feel alive
I wonder how it looks just now, No I don't want to know
Just let me lie in somber a little while, Then I will leave from here
That's all any of us ever do, Wander a path until it ends
Yet some of us find hope in others that we could not find in ourselves
Some of us met native spirits that made it all make sense
And some of us just lived the best way that we knew how

Glimpses I Could Not Paint

This worn out seat suits my needs well
And a sip of satin is rich to my tired soul
The morning is brisk with autumnal bliss
And an Irishman came asking  for his blend
He spoke of lightning rods and of money
And I know not what he meant, but I smiled
I slowed in my rush to finish my latest race
And profoundly I could see the here and now

Chicken Steak on a Beach

I got the chicken steak
It seemed that I should
The glass was dirty
The seat was broke
I even bit my tongue
One wonders why I was there
For that I have no answer
It seemed that I should
The shake made it better
The fancy glass did the trick
Bathing suits passed my way
I tried not to notice
Their men saw me stare
I pretended not to meet their gaze
I debated to leave a tip
It seemed that I should