Journal

Insomniac's Journal

Words birthed in the internal

His subconscious' dunk-tank

These words remained unranked

Articulate the contemplations

Of these waking frustrations

Pen in hand

Sleep be damned

These are the greatest thoughts in the land

But why do they come at 4 in the morning

Must write them down

And heed the warning

His memory won't serve him as well when he wakes

If only he knew what was at stake

Words, Words, and more still left to come

Cannot stop till he sees the sun

Sunken eyes

Blood shot red

Sleep finally comes to the walking dead

Wednesday, March 13, 2013

Fond

Break the vase over my head
That was cracked from my childhood

My sneakers are worn
From dodging cracks in the sidewalk

The spokes of my wheels
Bent from jumping the potholes

Knees scraped and bloodied
From sandbox adventures
The girl from the playground
Held my heart in two hands

The guardians watched on
With a fierce eye
The world was bigger then
And I don't know why

Lessons learned
In the drive-thru of ages
Ten
Eight
Seven
Six
Five
Four
Two

One Life
Many second chances
Three wishes max
And Four-square dances

From a time
When luck was just a clover field away
I loved us
And every second of our yesterdays


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