Category: Bad Poetry

It was one of those mornings when you know it is Thursday already, and you are just plain beat from a heavy work week that has been dragging on you to stay late at work. The dream was my usual Dream Within A Dream, filled with symbols of everything and anything, all circling into a whirl of past memories and catholic boy guilt, there is meaning somewhere but I never remember my dreams and like I said the real world was beeping! No really! Turns out the battery backup unit I have for my living room receiver was beeping like crazy, that it had no power and I woke up thinking, the battery probably died in it. After trying to fix it, I realized the house was too quiet. Looks like the unit was okay, it was the entire house that had no electricity. It’s like 3 a.m., and I’m trying to look for a freaking match to light a candle, so I can see to find a freaking flashlight. I end up using a cellphone to light my way through the house and find my watch, so I can set an alarm to wake me up in a couple of hours, so I can go to work. I finally get back to bed and all I can think of our those stupid beeps waking me up in the first place. There’s no time to start dreaming again, just thinking of work, of stuff I need to do, stuff I want to avoid, and no more dreams within a dream, just noise in my head.

There is something to be said for driving a pickup truck, down a winding highway, listening to rock radio, with the windows down. Get the feeling of Freebird as the truck is pushing against the wind on an Indian Summer day. I look at the boys and they don’t know anything bad in this world. They are young and bold, and I wonder if they will even remember this day or feel that same sense of open road and reckless manful pride that can only be felt by driving fast and free.

It’s no secret why I’m standing here.
That you never notice these hands
which have been open and bare
without hesitation, without redemption.

I am yours and no, there is no other.

My wicked thoughts, have layed me
upon this turbelent storm,
And the breach is now ten miles wide
and between us.

Hurts -I know,
to know what I’ve done to us.
Now that you are confused and vulnerable
You’re not sure what I mean anymore.

Is this who we really are?
Or can we forgive a little more?
And try to not wonder anymore
what we did and didn’t say?

And it’s no secret why
I’m still standing here,
Never so open and bare
Vulnerable and confused.

Still thinking it isn’t over.