River Time

It’s river time, the sunset comes, and thoughts run free along the banks
We’re only people, after all, that’s all we are or could be

The kids I thought so cool in school; the beautiful girls, the guys they liked –
They all were only people

And governments and corporations, all sorts of organizations –
Each, just made of people

And football players and rockstars; saints and sinners; models, actors –
All just only people

And I don’t know what we expect:
We endow earthly deity
Upon those who pretend to know
But do not know
And cannot know
Because we’re only people

The Age of Hubris is our time
It makes us think we know it all
When mostly, we outdo the past
In deluding ourselves

It’s river time for everyone, I hope wherever you might be
That light and peace come round your way
Today and every single day
And know this – know it near and far –


That is all

We are

Goodbye –

I’m tired of taking pictures, Owen.
I need to go home.

That’s fine – I need a break
From writing, anyway.

How many have we done? It seems
Like we’ve been here for weeks —

One hundred thirty two, by my count –

It’s not a simple thing, you know, to
Always be expressive —

I know, I’m grateful for your patience.
That one was our last.

Alright, I’m headed home.
What will you do while you’re not writing?

Just finish FF4, I think;
Goodbye —
It’s been
A blast

I wished upon a winter night…

I wished upon a winter night
That you would find the love you need;
I knew it would not be with me.
But it would be no love, indeed

I had for you, if such a thing
Set limits on intention;
And so I wished great love for you,
Defying all

The Golden Road

Now he’s gone somewhere, down the golden road.
I cannot see beyond the nearest bend.
I think that he’s still up there, is my friend,
But what I see’s constrained by what is showed.

This place is beautiful and seems benign,
But seasons change and weather does, as well:
We feel magnanimous when all is fine,
But alter circumstance, and – who can tell.

I think my friend’s still out there, and I hope.
And yes, the golden road is – well, a trope:
That which we do not know, we do not know —
But where we’ve never seen, we yet
May go

The Rolling Fields

It was amid the rolling fields
I had my first epiphany;
That others long had shaped my life
Who never meant a thing to me.

I’d ceded my identity
To those who’d never care,
And worried about hidden truths
That were not ever there —

A pointless life I’d led, a life
Of “oh, what might have been –”
But now, I’d reason to go back
And try it all