Dreaming

I’ve been someone before. People knew my name and I was important.

In the shadow of the night people raged against the darkness screaming my name. Loving my face and the presence of me stilled their fears. I was a hero. I was a villain. I was evil, and I was god, but then I was dead.

I was a killer. I was a savior. I sought my darkest fantasies, and I learned how to cure cancer.

I became successful. I lost my soul. I was homeless, and found the meaning of life is not in possessions.

I ran never tiring, and at other times, I ran and didn’t move.

I’ve lost my mind screaming into the night. Yelling for someone; anyone to take the pain so I could not end it all. I’ve lost my mind hollering the name of the love of my life; praising the joy I’ve finally.

In the end I was always dreaming.

Fading Imaginations

If you don’t get imagination as a child you probably never will. – Dr. Seuss

Did you ever run into the wild with just your imagination? As a kid it’s how I always played. A stick could be sword, bow, or a bazooka. Foes and enemies appeared before my eyes, and I bested my greatest challengers. I often recall these memories with fondness, and think to a car passing by I was just a kid tumbling and running around for no reason. My imagination was strong back then. The lost of imagination is one of the greatest tragedies. Because we stop believing we can beat the things that haunt us. Our belief in ‘good triumphs over evil’ is squashed in the harsh reality that is life. As a kid you believe paper wings can make you fly, or pieces of junk can be turned into a time machine. Where does our imagination go?

Reality takes it when a hero dies. Reality takes it when the darkness of this world is greater than the light. Reality takes it when you have to get a job. Reality takes it when those paper wings fail and the time machine never comes to life. Adult imagination isn’t nearly as powerfully as a child’s. It has to be nurtured the older you get because the truths become too real. Turning a blind eye to facts becomes harder. Some might say you can’t live in a fantasy world, but why not? Maybe people wouldn’t be so cruel, depressed, stressed, or cold if they just opened their mind up more. Not open to new ideas necessarily, but just to the power of the mind’s eye. Be willing to stare nonsense in the face, and accept what it has to offer.

I think back to those times in the woods, my front yard, at the lake, running around my house; all the places I explored my imagination, and I miss that time of being lost in my mind. Worries were few, and joy was great. I think I will take a weekend sometime soon and wander into the woods. Pick up a stick and fight my foes. Engage my imagination because it is something I don’t want to lose. The world is too real and harsh of a place not to get lost in a fantasy world once in awhile.

My Boss (P. 1)

Take care of your assets and your assets will take care of you. – My Boss

There has been a lot of loss in 2018. What was left of my past is fading away, and I’ve always made the mistake of holding onto the past. A man, who was more like a grandfather to me than a boss, passed away this past summer. He gave me a lot of wisdom over my years of working for him. After college I’d just go down to talk with him, and the thing I regret most is that I didn’t do it more. I always found a reason why I was too busy. Time never pauses though, even when you promise to make more of it for those you love.

My boss didn’t fear death. I don’t know how he didn’t, but when the cancer was back and he was given months to live, he just kept on living. He helped someone build a house for Christ’s sake. He’d be out on his tractor or mowing the lawn. Life didn’t stop when he found out he only had a little left. He made sure to use that time he had left. There’s so many lessons to be talked about there alone, but my mind comes back to his six business ideals. Ones he had me commit to memory. Ones he had everyone he came across commit to memory.

Take care of your assets and your assets will take care of you. I always thought he was talking about the tractor, the chainsaw(I frequently jammed or dulled), or other possessions. Now, when I look back, I think his greatest assets were people. Everyone he came across, he tried to better their lives, and it was very rare when he didn’t succeed. He changed my life for the better, at least, when I was wise enough to listen. So what do we get from this? Help your friends, your family, your fellow man; because they are the assets that are life changing and will truly take care of you. I’d do anything if I could talk with him one more time. To hear his wisdom. To laugh with him. To have him ask a thousand questions about my life. To talk about the next project, even if it’s me. Since that is no longer possibly, I need to pass the wisdom on. I need to make those who are sad laugh. I need to show interest in other’s lives. I need to move on to the next project, even if it’s me.

In loving memory of my Boss.

This is Breaking Down

I want to write something to change my own life. Nothing I’ve written has been for anyone else. I want praise. I want meaning. I want someone to notice me. I want some one to say I’ve been there. To say they understand what it’s like to be like me. Its all about I, My, Mine, and Me. I’m a selfish asshole who wants people to care, but doesn’t have time to care about anyone else. I want to say here, “I wasn’t always this person”, but that is a lie. Was I ever nice for anyone but me? Was God ever real or just a vise? Did I care only when it mattered to me? Convenience. A show. A fake. Me.

I’m a pretender. A type of person I shit on without realizing that person is me. I can blame life, people, circumstance, or fate; but in the end I’m to blame. I don’t finish anything, I just exist. I hate existing. Life isn’t suppose to be hard. It’s not suppose to be complicated. Everyone else does it, but I fuck it up. My whole life I’ve been waiting for something big, but never doing anything big. I’ve lost touch with so many people, and I only see how it effects me. Because I’m a selfish piece of shit.

Megan, the first girl I obsessed over. Is it where I fucked up? Obsession not confidence? A shy introvert who thinks having morals actually matters. A fucking loser who couldn’t talk to girls. I fucking hate that guy. I hate him, but now I’m this man. Fucking broken. A wreck. Not some wreck you can’t turn away from, but one that has been there so long you don’t even notice it anymore. Just junk on the side of the road.

What do I need? Maybe a new question.

For all who read this. Never become me.

Nights are the Worst

Feelings we get at night,

Make us beg for mornings light.

For life is the nightmare it seems,

And the false escape would be a dream.

Before we shut our eyes, life can be too much to bear,

But then in our dreams everything we want is there.

Than we awake to what is real.

We awake to what we really feel.

The silence heard during the day,

Makes us plead for yesterday.

Makes us want that one in the past.

That one, that left and didn’t last,

But this is too much to ask.

So we live in dark during the day.

Waiting for hope to come our way,

And though in the day we walk in the sun.

In our soul from the darkness we run.

Through the feelings and silence of day and night,

You know what you think in the dark is right.

That the emptiness felt in your soul,

Cries for one to make it whole.

For you feel a void that lies ahead,

That makes questions run circles in your head.

A void, that grows in the silence of time.

One that reminds you being alone isn’t fine.

One that screams through the silent night,

Yelling how you feel right now isn’t right!

—

But you will lie there again tomorrow,

Trapped in the darkness of your sorrow.

Death Parade(Part one)

You tell me that your always afraid,

But that seems to be Death’s fearful parade.

It marches through your veins,

Filling these streets with pain.

The bands all marching down,

The crowd faces all aglow with frowns.

You wonder why you still try,

When everyday you seem to want to die.

I will take you by the hand,

And pull you through all the dying bands.

With their music played so low,

Making your heart beat so slow–

We will climb right over all the broken down floats,

And run around all the marching skeletons in red coats.

We don’t have to worry about it being that loud,

Because all we hear is the soft moan of this dying crowd.

We now see Death tossing guns and knives,

So that these tortured souls may take their lives.

I can tell you want this too,

But I’ll tighten my hold on you.

Because I see the end of this nightmare parade,

And soon you won’t have to be afraid.

Carelessly, you look up at Death’s scarred up face,

And it makes you stop your quickened pace.

I look back at you,

And I know you don’t have the strength to make it through.

So I turn, grab you, and hold you tight,

turn you head away from Death’s hopeless sight.

And I whisper in your ear,

“Please lay aside all your fear,

I’ll keep you safe as long as I’m here,

I’ll carry you to the end, if I have to my dear”