A Bend in the Road

Where are you going young man
Old man, I wish I knew
Why do you walk so hard
Of my fate, You would too

Life is not always a riddle son
Elder, you know not my story
But I have the time to hear it
Oh, what brings you to worry

Men half your age look better
Than the miles across your back
Your shoes worn thin from running
And your stuff, It falls out your sack

I'll not dare to be as gray as you
You, with the golden cane of age
The miles of been kind to you I see
And here you pretend to be a sage

Enough with your scoffing boy
When little you really know
Your wars fought, I fought them too
Back when your seed did not grow

Then Tell me Grandpa, Tell me now
Answer me the questions and fruits
What have you to gain me this night
Where hang your ancient boots

Instead of talking, the old man just stares
Mist fills his eyes, His body aches with pain
The memories of his past flood out from him
They dance like gypsies on his addled brain

The young lad just watches, intent and slow
He now breathes in the aging man's trails
His own struggles seem less infinite tonight
A saga of agony once hidden behind veils

Late that night, the elder man does sleep
He dreams of the past, Of how to go back
Ten thousand summer nights tossed away
More illusions than answers hidden in his sack

And under another roof, the child sleeps too
He was shown the end of his own reckless heart
What may become of him if nothing did change
Instead of a sordid past, He dreams of a new start

Clichés and Keyholes

Writing from obscure
Windows makes not
A poet, Child
Nor does flailing
Without any rehearse
Give angst to
word, Yet seeing
clearly I yell
down an empty
Hallway, Or is
Anyone listening really
To epic literature
Lessons, Jumbled up
With musings from
A past life
One that tried
To Kill its
Author, But heroes
Only fade in
Movies, Or something
We humor ourselves
But laughing comes
Later, When dying
is less immediate
And Autumn fades
Pertaining to discourse,
No rhythm fits
Verse, No line
Saves the plot
A ten gallon
Hat weighs no
Less, Even if
A hatter dares
To have tea
With a Doormouse
Hold on see
There is revelance
After all critics,
Just when books
Closed, doubters realized
That Alice was
Alive and well
In Wonderland no
Less, And poet
He relates verse
To the whirlwind
Of life seen
Through a keyhole
Inside a little
Door, created by
Another tortured soul
Just as beautiful
As old wine
Many escape labels
Of insanity perhaps
Though every person
Looks,  Not all
Of them see 

Paper Airplanes

There's this girl who flew some airplanes
Made of paper, in her sleep
Directing their every whim with her fingertip
Some flew too loudly now
Woke her from her softly stated slumber
Crashing jets on runways
And runaway dreams, they save lives,
Correcting certain neurosis
Of battles lost and others won on lucid fronts
The walls come down some
Where everyone can see her flying machines,
And I laugh at her wildly
As if I knew what that untraveled road really meant
But there is a plan to her
Her planes represent all the places she still must go,
And I sit drinking coffee
Wondering if there is room in those plans for me,
Sure she said to me
All I am asking for, Is your ticket to eternity
We both laugh at this
As if it really means something, But we know it surely does
And we walk off the silent stage
She knows I'll tell everyone about her many plans
About flying planes from here
With a long haired dreamer with no razor, yet a pen in his hand
Some laugh, but for that I have no care