I Ran Out Of Highways

Ran out of highways
So I took to the sea
Rejecting society
Not for them to decree
It’s lonely out here
Writing by starlight
Don’t have the answers
But I know what’s right

We Have Quiet Inspirations



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

Choosing Certain Words

  

Choosing certain words
With connotations to stir
The hearts of the audience
Cocked crow with pubic fur
Sitting uncomfortably – like whaa?
Where the hell is he going with this
Delusional in this rehabilitating fatigue
Longing for the peace that I miss

Floating Amongst The Blue

Floating amongst the blue
My bones drying in the heat
I’m still thinking about you
Relaxation, such a novel treat
Life cherished in these days
Not the change you wanted to see
Time ignored in many ways
I am sorry, for I am still only me

Imperial City Coins Clink In Your Pocket

Imperial city coins clink in your pocket
Orwellian flaws litter winter’s landscape
Thick fisherman’s sweater to fight the cold
Feigning steps upon the tragic lady’s cape
Black soot marring the evening sky
Told her you were king of Earth, not the salt
Misdirection will only get you so far in life
Lies & deception will still remain your fault

I Don’t Want Your Description

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

 

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

 

 

 

Cavernous Depression Falling Down Without Truth

Cavernous depression falling down without truth
Wet streets refracting the bitter twilight of the moon
Trenches & overcoats pulled tight to repel the world
A need for answers that cannot wait past this noon
Try to place everything perfectly into its correct box
Finding out the little control we have while we’re here
Knowing the results we wish to see once the sun rises
No need to stay dry when you’re drowning in this fear

You’re Holding Expectations

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

The Greatest Coffee Ever.

“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.

Robert Hunter

“…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

Laura Ingalls Wilder

 

 

“Home is the nicest word there is.” – Laura Ingalls Wilder