A Man and the Ocean

I set sail for what I think will be a trip of the ages. Alone I pack the necessities necessary for survival on these rugged waters. Like a pirate I proclaim my vessel as if I bore it from my womb. I didn't. I stole it. But my reasons are mine and mine alone. My flag flys high above held up only by wind and its own securities. My vessel reponds to my every command and takes me into unchartered territories. I hit wave after wave after wave with crashings felt below deck like a bad out of hell. My peripheral gives me no clues as to where I am going. My compass given to me from a dead soldier is the only guidance I have. I continue to head north. My starbird is ready. I am ready. I head right into the eye. Right into the mouth of madness. Right into where my fate lies. Will I make it out? It doesn't matter. All that matters is that I am coming and hell is coming with me.

Day 1

There was a time when i thought I knew what freedom was

I mean freedom still consists of 2 wheels on an open road

But it can be much much more

If we go back a few years and I think about decisions that were made

I don’t have any regrets except two

Now that statement might sound like hypocrisy

But indeed it is not

2 beings went without

2 beings that embody what freedom is

We were separate as well as the same

They did not know

I did not know

BUT….

We bond. Inseparable beings connected through the fiber within us

A form of freedom consists in our actions. Our behaviors. Our words.

Together we set a path. A road not yet taken as it was just created.

Their mannerisms become mine. My mannerisms become theirs.

We form a gang and nobody will ever fudge with us.

But as a gang. We smile. We love. We exist. We live. Freedom.

Today is the aftermath of day 1.

A man apart. Alone without his gang.

I wait.

I cry.

I smile.

It Just Felt Right

It just felt right.

Like nothing else mattered.

Every day was a new day.

Every night was a new adventure.

The sun looked different.

The moon glowed a different hue.

Words used had different meanings.

Articulated sentences were powerful.

The worlds axis hiccuped.

The birds made love differently.

Television was automatically in high definition.

Mistakes were made.

Lies were told.

Hearts were opened to endless possibilities.

Art made sense.

Books could be read from back to front.

Thoughts were formulated effortlessly.

Pain did not hurt.

Tears tasted like lemonade.

People looked differently.

Stars were shooting often.

Skylines were bright and yet vulgar.

Love was felt.

It just felt right.

One Day

They were just words
Waves with no destination
Looking for home
For a homecoming of sorts
Inevitably looking for actions
But he was not to be found
Brothers searching for each other
Long lost but never forgotten
Both on journeys unexplainable
No need to explain
Was not necessary
Brothers just know
Words continues searching
Endlessly with hope
Actions staggered into a fight
A battle that was not his
He does the right thing
He fights for freedom
For the time being
There will be no reunion
Actions cannot hear words
And words cannot see actions
Maybe one day
One day

Tears

What once was beautiful is now destroyed

What once was love is now a consummation of hate

Pieces of life scattered amongst the ashes

On display for all

Whether here or the after world

What once was a smile is now a black lung

Gasping for air with a slow pulse

Pictures of happiness now just ample angst

Retorted conversations full of vulgarity

Mirrors broken in my name

Giving me unfortunate luck for the rest of my life

A slow death

I have tears

Limon+Cello

The lemon was not to be sold.
 It was ripe for its liking and knew that patience was the way to go. It was not crazy nor did it have any delusional thoughts of grandeur. It did not produce nectar nor did it ever want to be associated with honey or pollen or even bees and butterflies. It is thoroughly satisfied with its own mystery. With no place to call home, the lemon knows that with time all good things happen. With its perfect contention with its citric and acids, the lemon migrates the land like a yellow nomad. Searching in solitude for its meaning of existence. The lemon's juices spill not flow. It is rough in its nature. It has its reasons. It doesn't care about minuscule things like shape or taste or that it attacks opened wounds with a vicious tyrannical attack. The lemon knows of its idiosyncrasies and still continues to take its own path. Sure the lemon can be baked and made into an Ade that children love. But the lemon CHOOSES to engage in these extra extra curricular activities. The lemon knows its core is protected by rind and only a fool would challenge the lemon's soul. Even without a place of origin the lemon is a BACA (bad ass citric acid). And when the lemon's day is over, it relaxes to the sweet succulent charms of Limoncello.
Sip my friends. Sip.

Mother

We all come out of a womb
With no thoughts of why or how
We don't even get to choose our environment
Sonetimes its good
Sometimes its bad
Sometimes its very bad
We don't get the option
It just is
But no matter
We are all free
As life happens we begin to make choices
We begin to change the course
Sometimes its bad sometimes its very bad
But other times its grand
No matter how we begin
Its how we end
We all came out of a womb
And we get to choose how we die