Author Archives: sam

We’ll See, I Suppose

Good afternoon, friends. I am very tired today. Very tired for a long time now. I don’t believe it’s quite coming to a head. This is just how it is now. I won’t ever give up, of course. I refuse. I will keep going. Keep doing my best. It doesn’t get easier, but it does get easier. My dreams will not be just dreams. Perception is reality. We can all take a lesson from that, I think. Finding myself never stops. Finding yourself never stops. That’s the fun part. Somewhat sad poem for you today. Maybe I’m easier to figure out than I think.

Self-Sufficient

You want me to be honest?

You want me to tell the truth?

I am tired.

I am spent.

I just need to go home and sleep.

Go home and be in my bed.

To stow and hide away my heart and mind.

To hold my broken heart in your hands.

How it must be to know such power.

Intoxicating, perhaps.

I only wish you would care for it

Cherish it, the way a lover would.

Sew me up

Put me back together

Pick up all my pieces but you’re missing the tape

I don’t hurt anymore

Just the slow thumping in my chest

My blood still flows just the same

Somehow it comes to pass that I breathe without lungs

Pump blood with no heart

See with no eyes

And touch with no hands

All things I give to you freely

That you take and take without recess

So that now I have nothing left

Except that I do

I am breathing

I am Seeing

And I am feeling

Those Riders Four

I bring to you a scene. A fog settles over you. Sirens begin to sound. The sky breathes and heaves with fire and smog. You can’t find your keys, not that you could see to drive. A haze so thick and so permeant that you can barely see your reflection in the windows of a nearby house. A cacophony of sirens and horns that slowly eases into a low drone replaced by not-so-distant screams. You think you feel something nearby in the mist. Something breathing. Skittering, scuttling things in the…

Miasma

A diseased, pestilent miasma settles over the glen

A fog so thick you can barely see your hand

Ancient runes and sacred stones replaced by boils and pustules of horrid ooze

Peace is lost and hardly found

Wear a mask to hide your face

Prepare yourself for the coming race

The sage has wilted, mistletoe rotten

As trees wither and become forgotten

A swamp to take its place

Monsters march in malodorous mist

Forming together some demonic tryst

They watch and stalk you through the smog

You’ve lost your way

Landmarks vanish

Compasses don’t work here.

Everything gone awry

Their eyes watching every step you take

Waiting for your first mistake

Gnashing teeth and demonic screams in cacophonous harmony

Though hardly could you describe their cruel countenance

You must find a new place

Far and away in outer space

But first to win the race

And avoid the demon’s gaze

Another Little Love Story

Guten Morgen, Freunde! Every day is an opportunity for another little love story. Fall in love even more with the person you love, fall in love with the trees and the dirt, fall in love with air you breathe and the little tiny dogs you see walking in the street. Life is often hard, but I’ve said before: You don’t need to harden yourself to match it. Find peace in acceptance of yourself and all things. Find love in your heart where you thought it had left. Be softer and kinder to yourself and those around you. Never give up. The World won’t. Why should you?

It’s A Helluva Lot

Spending months away at sea

Leaving just the baby and she

Thinking to myself about the way they miss me

Hoping happy she will be

Coming home to see her eyes

Reflecting deep blue skies

And her love I need not prise

For with her I won’t capsize

Stepping from the boat and holding her

Hearing the machines choke and whir

And i can say with confidence she’s better than pictures

Sitting at the foot of the bed

Knowing that someday we’ll be wed

Thinking of the life we have ahead

I’ll one day leave this ship and be with her instead

I’ll give up being a sailor and be the one she counts on

I’ll wake up every morning to her smile with the dawn

Knowing when the time comes that i won’t again be gone

Spell-Bound

Morning, friends. Today is a day to get up. Just get up. Out of bed. Off your couch. Up that ladder. Just get up and get out. It’s a wonderful day to get out and curse your enemies. I’ve got a spell for you today; said spell written by yours truly. I hope you enjoy it. Revel in the power of the…

Hex

I curse today and all the days

These Gods of ours in all their ways

When time has come and I will sum

Their heart against a stone I’ll weigh

I curse their bodies and their minds

Their every breath and every step

I curse the day that they were borne

From their chest, their lungs are torn

You fail us time and time again

Fail me and us and drop your pen

Your days are numbered

I’ll count to ten

A Home For The Days (And Nights Too)

Good morning! Running off of three hours of sleep and a single cup of black coffee really makes you think. About everything. My mind is always moving a million miles a minute. I’ve spent a long time wondering. No doubt I’ll do it some more. There always seems to be more time. Life is so often so slow. Helps to appreciate the little things. Always keeping track of all the little things I love. It is a hard world. Be softer. Be kinder. Bring balance to a world with an edge so sharp it often cuts. One of these days I’ll look back and realize that all of this made sense. Only just with context. And now, a drumroll…

There and Back Again

Feeling not so good again

Queasy

It’s never so easy

I want to go home

But there is no home

Not for now

But again, i think

I’d like to open the door

To walk in

“Honey, I’m home,” I’d whisper

To see the couch and coffee table

I’d like to go to the kitchen

To cook for me and mine

See a smile I haven’t seen in so much time

To sit upon my castle walls and stare out at the sunset

I only call the window out of my office the crenellations

Because it makes her laugh

My chest to rest your tired head

I know how hard the days can tread

To walk amongst the bathroom tile

See the towels rank and file

We can both be sticklers sometimes…

How she chuckles at my choice of words.

Finally through the bedroom

A bed to rest my tired head

We’ll be happy

When all is done and said