We have quiet inspirations
Somber tones you seldom realize
Shifting away from self-imposed
Heartaches & their relayed lies
We must accept the responsibility
Adulting was never part of the plan
Though you gotta make the most of it
Take it from me – Sincerely
The Pan
I don’t want your descriptions
For they mean nothing to me
I refuse to be your inscription
I’m gone – I already set myself free
Take a moment for yourself
Ponder qualities of mental wealth
We no longer use CRAZY as a term
Makin’ patients uncomfortably squirm
Come on in, promise to give you back your health
You’re holding expectations
Needing me to be a better guy
Wishing I was more successful
Hating my truth; you’d prefer a lie
So I wander within my own skin
To become what you want in a man
Each day, I’m ever more the pirate
Soon, they’re be no more Peter Pan
“No, you have to pour more in.”
“This is okay. You don’t want to use too much.”
“The color is off.”
“I’m getting there.”
“Okay, I think it is time to stir.”
“Yeah, I think so.”
The elves were perched upon his old coffee mug. Together they were stirring the creamer in with all their collective strength. Their small hands gripping the wooden spoon, careful not to fall into the steaming liquid concoction below.
“What do you think?”
“It looks good.”
“Yeah, that looks to be the right combination.”
“We better go.”
“Yeah, he’ll be up soon.”
The man walked into his dimly lit kitchen, rubbing his eyes. His glasses were propped up over his brow. He stood in the doorway, clothed in his usual plaid pajama pants and v-neck undershirt. Every morning was the same. He came into the kitchen and mindlessly pressed the button on the coffeemaker. Then he watched the precious coffee fall into the pot, always anxious for the first cup.
His coffee was waiting for him. Confusion swept over him. He always had to make his own coffee. His knew his wife and children were still asleep. It would be a few hours before he had any company, even the dog remained curled up. He slowly walked in to investigate. It had the perfect coloring. He timidly touched the side of the cup. It was hot.
Within his peripheral, he noticed movement out on the back lawn. When he looked out there, he saw nothing. The man unlocked the door and stepped out into the calm morning air. He smiled and shook his head. He went back inside and enjoyed the best cup of coffee he ever had.
The End.
or
When he stepped outside, the man noticed tiny footprints. There were a few blades of grass that were trampled just so. He noticed a slight iridescent glow to those peculiar blades. The footprints went across the lawn into his wife’s rose bushes. The man smiled. He hadn’t thought about them since he was a child.
The End.
“…mercy’s a business, I wish it for you
More than just ashes when your dreams come true…”
-Fire On The Mountain- Grateful Dead, words by Robert Hunter
“Home is the nicest word there is.” – Laura Ingalls Wilder
Captain Q 