In pure simplicity.

I’m worried about some things,

That I can barely see.

For 40 years I’ve searched,

For everything I’ve learned,

And yet I could barely say,

More than simple words.

Because everyone has a secret,

I’m too tired to rediscover,

But when you need a secret,

You blow gods holy cover.

(or just remember you’re a sower)

That couldn’t mean ten things,

Something I could say,

To bring back holy wings,

I feel so remorseful,

For all I hadn’t said,

I know I keep on living,

Despite what could be dead,

And in each and every poem,

Are multitudes of thoughts,

I’m sorry I can’t be perfect,

But yet I might be not,

There’s gotta be a way,

To end it all again,

Any pain I might be causing,

By giving it a thought,

And though I don’t give up,

I know sometimes I say it,.

but when I truly mean it,.

I do truly mean it, I will,

Because as much as I try,

I now know that’s not the way yet.

And the conundrum comes,

For instantly I know,

today is still tomorrow, because sometimes we all fuck it up,

And forwards towards rewards I so.

If only my role was clearwaters, like his

holy discipline,

Or maybe I’m thinking back, to that thought they left with me,

To when I wrote in pen,.but yet I do know one thing, there’s more to like than see,

I’m constantly really trying,.to be a man I knew once,…though thought is blessed, sometimes I write it over, to see people really change, and quite possibly recover.

That’s my day in verse,

In something I’m trying to say,

In secret and in tongue,….that clearly noway means,

And thinking of a mix,…of good and bad I guess,…but single sentences,…it can be quite intense.

Towards or backwards,.

Forwards or through,

Summer is coming,

And spring be near through…

And though I’m a mix,

Of weird and unruly,

I know that time’s more,

Than I love you truly,

Because it takes a man,

And someone else too,

To say those three words,.

And,

They have to be meant,

Each and every time, and if they are not,

That might just be fine.

I could write a ending out, one to much more, but today is a day, and right here once more.

Okay. So. Here I am on my last day, in a way.

I’ve been writing about a lot of people and things,

Somewhat in code.

Maybe I don’t remember exactly what or why,

Or even, perhaps.

Balance is probably the greatest gift,

If it can be achieved, at something greater,

Which takes just that, and give,

So maybe I’ve fucked it up a lot,

Proverbially, to speak,

And maybe I’ve been weak.

But truly I can say to you, I’ve done most of it before,

And maybe God is not the devil, or work not just a bore,

But when I get up each day again,

I’d say my most powerful gift,

Is the weapon of the pen.

Yet maybe it’s a gift to write, in English or other tongue,

And maybe if I play it back right through,

I’ll have simmered down again.

Starting a nother new job

Serving from the other hand.

Synchronous with a nod

Different but similar uniform

And maybe without perfect anything

But a small smile

And a decent smell

Of food and beverage crew

And yet when all was said and done

I did it all for you

(who are you dear, and why so sad, and why doth life still get this bad)

I wish I could hear it once or more

But truly I’m a snooze and bore

And maybe little last gifts

Aren’t all that’s left but devils kiss

That there’s anything new,

Perfect timing it was,

In that past life,

In tomorrow’s day,

An unspoken wife,

A little forward I go,

Each day to come back,

To the start of roleplay

Panic attack

I’m not able to die,

When I cannot sleep,

I scream and I weave,

And forget how to speak,

And nevermind I broke it already,

A promise I made,

I can’t be the guy,

That perfect timing made slave.

It’s

Father in heaven,

Our hallowed name,

One day at a time,

And never the same,

Forgive us again,

So I can just do it over,

Forgive us in future,

So I don’t recover,

And there is a secret,

I don’t want to live,

Because I am so lonely,

And cannot stop to think.

Or ponder it over,

When you ask me to stop,

Do it do it alot.

When I moved in, I made a list. And then I added some dreams and upgrades.

We are what we say,

We are what we sing,

We are what we grow,

And that I know.

So maybe I’m aloe,

A salv for the broken,

Maybe I’m still healing,

And very soft-spoken.

I grow up inside,

Each day and each time,

I write you a letter,

Or give you a rhyme.

So thank you, we can say.

Trying to make sense of my own code is like walking around making figure eights in your parents house going crazy trying to figure out where and why, how and when there even was a code in the first place. Who can break it is the mystery, and then, what to do with it?

This life has been so cyclical, unchanging, yet profound. I’ve seen the strangest phenomenons, the most repetitive at times, superfluous or even kinda mundane too.

We need to mature quickly, yet age slowly. To grow, yet to stop and resist. Why is usually my first question, and then what, where, when, but how usually, but not always eludes me without the graces of the powers at be.

I’m still turning out to be the same guy, even now.  I don’t know how to beat it, crack it, or make sense of these things, but yet, there’s a subtle comfort in them and the lack thereof or with them.

So what to do? I can’t get out of trouble when I was borrowing it, stop borrowing time when it was infinite, and am infinitely in a despair over the situation. I think my dad always puts it best. If you can’t fix it, don’t worry. If you can fix it, also don’t worry. Do we always have this option? Surely not, because of the game and games of life. Today though, I’m just going to do it. I’ve saught, I’ve gotten basically nowhere, at least quickly, so today, I’m not going to worry. The graces of human nature are there, and I can win a little once in a while, even when I don’t know who or what or why I’m trying to win.

I guess that’s all I can say. If you continue on you’ll see my mind at ease, in turmoil, in thanksgiving, in praise. It’s just a story. And today is yet unwritten.