Take me back in time, just a few weeks is fine, back to when you smiled and danced in time with the drum. When our laughter and hearts were open, our guts spilled across the floor. I miss your smiling face and penetrating voice, the warmth your jokes send through me. I miss my friend.

the only safe place is behind a mask,

carefully constructed, 

crafted to conceal the ungodly horror,

you sweat, you cry, you bleed beneath this mask,

in a world that would destroy if it noticed you.

a world marching ever forward,

a banner raised with a cross,

emblazoned bright red and burning,

the word love beneath it.

now the wounds are sore and infected,

but you don't dare remove the mask,

to do so would mean a new banner would be raised,

painted with your blood the words jesus saves

Tomorrow is the day,
Tomorrow has toil and pain,
Tomorrow the sun will rise and set,
Tomorrow I march,
Tomorrow I sweat,
Tomorrow I bleed,
I know one day this will all crash around me,
One day the sun will swallow he earth,
One day the electricity behind my music will stop,
One day I will die and my words will disappear into ash,
But that day is not today,
For today I live,
For today my headphones blare,
My cigarette burns,
And my eyes are dry.

I wasted days like you waste money. They came and went in dazzling blurs that will never be remembered. In trying to feel alive I came within inches of death and looked it in the eyes.
Then I met you. Beautiful, smart, broken you. And I destroyed you. I never meant to but it’s like giving a child a crystal sculpture. He might understand it’s beauty and craftsmanship but he will never be safe with it. He will store it with the baseball glove and football pads.
when I held the broken pieces my mind raced wirred trying desperately to find away to make t not so. The sharp edges of the broken glass that was her sliced my hands and feet. I couldn’t escape lets I inflict further pain. As I grew I realized that the only way out is to put a strip of leather between my sole and the ground and use a similar application with my soul and the world around me.

Today I wrote your name on a cigarette, and I set it adrift.
I hope you will find it, and understand I still want to see you.

I sit on the edge of inspiration, the mood is on me as I smoke another cigarette, the taste of the last pack still on my lips.
I am on the edge of inspiration patiently sitting waiting for my words to take shape. I picture you to help it along. If I could only taste you on my lips again my heart would leap with poetic words and love tales.
But I sit. And wait. On the edge of inspiration

I see you only at night.
It’s been a year since I first kissed your smiling lips and I tasted what you were hiding behind it.
A year and two weeks since we first met. You wrote a note in my journal. I now associate the leaves colorful change to your beautiful eyes.
I only see you in my dreams now.
11 months since i last saw you and I am starting to forget how your nose felt pressed against mine.
I am starting to forget the shape of your short hair.
I only see you at night but soon I won’t be able to see you at all.

I love fall. For many reasons.
The colors change.
Pumpkins.
Holloween.
Sweaters.
Leaves to play in.
Beautiful colors.

And I met her.
Her smile. The small gap between her two front teeth that one could only find by exploring her mouth with ones tongue.
Her short dyed black hair with a hint of purple.
Her hips. These perfect hips that swished this way and that in the sexiest blend of grace and clumsiness.
Her hands. Her soft hands and scarred wrists that I explored with my finger tips.
Her eyes. The green center and blue outline with a tinge of yellow in one eye. They glowed bright for everyone to see. Especially against her hair.

I hate fall. For many reasons.
Things die.
It gets cold.
I lost her.

I remember it wasn’t until a while later I saw her again. I sat with my friends laughing pretending she wasn’t a hole in my soul. And there she was standing over me. My eyes met hers, a nervous smile on her face that I only saw after we were finished fucking. The smile that says she was afraid I would my leave her. But I wasn’t the one who left a suicide note in the for of two words in my phones inbox. I didn’t say I was sorry and try to leave her forever. That was her. And now she is gone. Gone away to a distant land with me hoping that she will find the strength to text me.

I hate the fall. Because everything dies in the fall

I want to live forever,
my name mocked by teens.
i want to live forever,
scholars gathering in teems.
i want to live forever,
in the pages of books people never bring to class,
i want to live forever,
in lovers poems that are supposedly original.
i want my name passed on from man to man,
generation to generation,
because maybe there is a life after this,
but really i just don't know that.
i want to live forever and this is the only way i know how

Have you ever seen the stars from atop a mountain,
Clear and chilled like the ice from heaven rests next to you?
Have you shaken a nomads hand,
Felt his loneliness and content, been slightly jealous?
Have you felt the desolation of the dunes of Coral Sands,
So close to your fellows yet so far?
There is so much you have yet to see,
so much i could show you.

Yet i see in your eyes things i never dreamed,
sunsets on sky scraper littered horizons,
the joy of a crowd celebrating a new year,
of meeting new people every day.
There is so much i have yet to see,
so much you could show me.

I remember that dark summer night as i sat on the ground and averted my eyes. I remember the 9 mm Ruger ringing out and echoing across the rows and rows of houses, houses filled with people who don't know the tragedy that just struck.
I remember hugging what remained of my childhood friend, his blood soaked fur dripping into my mouth and coating my hands.
I remember washing my hands for hours night, trying not to wash away the blood but the memories.
I remember years later working at a fast joint, the way the beef patties poured blood and the feeling of it drying on every surface.
I remember every night when i got home washing my hands until the blood of the bovine was replaced with the blood of a boy trapped in a mans body. I wasn't trying to wash away the blood, but the memories.
and it seemed no matter how hard i scrub no matter how long i remain determined, that some grime will never leave me.
I remember telling my friends and they would ring out "no no there is nothing wrong with wanting to be clean."
I nod as i think to myself "there is nothing wrong with washing my hands until i lose count in the sixties and have to start over. there is nothing wrong with brushing my teeth after every meal and at least once a hour. There is nothing wrong with everytime something dries on my hands, crying in a public restroom where no one can see."
i remember a dark autumn night, where i carry out the smaller of my childhood friends. I remember singing to him, the only creature to have heard me sing.
I remember averting my eyes as a .22 rifle rings out, drenching his fur in blood. I remember digging with dry eyes and steady hand.
I remember washing my hands until i lost count at sixty then starting over again.
I remember losing count three times that night.
I remember replacing the feline's blood with my own.
I remember... and i wish i didn't.

Will you run away with me?
see places we've never dreamed?
will you leave tomorrow?
to a world all its own?
will you hold my hand?
atop a bullet train?
will you run away with me?
to a world we've never dreamed?

Tattoo

Who knows if tomorrow comes?
for the worlds we build,
and the ones we burn,
captains of our fate we called ourselves.
who could be as foolish as we?

The blushing and pain,
a tear dripping from my face,
as it mingles with sweat,
all of it is worth it,
if you but show the best jewel given this world,
smile and it will all be worth it.

your blue eyes shining into mine,
rocking in your chair,
the smile on your face,
dwarfing the sun in comparison.
you tell me how beautiful the cicadas sound,
how we should do this more,
i barely have breathe to agree,
because you took it from me.

It is said old men send young men to war,

but that is no longer true,

Politicians and civilians vote and argue,

while my brothers and my sisters,

and cousins, and uncles and aunts,

go to battle,

fighting and dying.

when they come back they are broken,

unable to tell friend from foe.

the same ones who sent them there,

spit on them, call them baby killers,

or fakers.

She is a smile in the sun,
speeding down the road with a laugh,
her blows in the wind,
hair rushing across her face.
but the most amazing thing about her,
is how she makes you feel.
excited and alive,
you smile and scream.
stealing glances at her perfect lips,
wishing you could have a taste.

i just know that when i walk to somewhere new that i see things that make me stop and write. and there is no better feeling than being overwhelmed to point of stopping whatever i am doing to scroll a story. it is comparable to an orgasm honestly. and i know travelling gives that to me. i know looking at my most recent stories and poems they would NEVER have been possible without what i have seen and i think how many more stories am i missing out on.

Oh how i miss it; A life without worry of pain or boredom. How the waves crashed against the bow as i surge forward. Gib and main taut and wrinkless, the wind and the spray cloaking my face. Forced to feel, forced to be aggressive, through the tacks and waves. The keel leagues from the bottom. I am invincible at sea. While the warm air and cold water are so far away yet those times live on in my heart. One day i will sail again.

never has there been a more beautiful day than the day my name escaped your lips

i say its wonderful, i say i am happy for you but the words leave clenched teeth and teared cheeks. you have just broken my heart into five million pieces just by being happy. i do not think i could be anymore selfish right now as you burn my world around me

A smile that shines across the room,
You are not like the others,
You cling to your friend like a child thrown to the waters,
Our eyes meet but you avert,
I spent all night gathering my courage,
Before my words finally spilled,
The smile on your face pushing me on,
But thunder interrupted,
I left disappointed,
I didn’t even get your name.

Love is such a fickle thing, it lives inside me making decisions that will never have a happy ending. Love does not care about fairy tales or wise advice, but instead choose on a flood of chemicals and warm moments. Love is a fickle thing and it will be the end of me.

If i can just get out of here,
i will head towards the stars in the south,
or the north,
or the west,
or maybe i will take a boat,
and sail to the stars that shine from the east.
I will walk if i have to,
but i will not stay here,
for the lights have gone out,
the candles melted and power cut.
I will walk if i have to,
but i won't let my torch die out.

At the age of five i sing along to the radio in my dads pick up, it is older than he is. He smiles at me for the first time i remember.
when i was 7 my dad is away in a place with sand and sun. I would rather be alone than be who i am with. When i sing i am met with words of harsh tone and crushing syllables.
when i grew to be 8 my dad had returned but no smile crossed his face. He hugged me in the way a starving man would hug his food.
When i was 11 my father was away to the sunny place for the third time. each time he returned his face had less and less inside of it. I almost never sing outside of choir anymore.
At the age of 13 i make the startling discovery that i can no longer sing. I rush to tell my dad not realizing he is once again in the place who's name is filled with airy words with many Js and Hs. I do not sing again
At the age of 17 my dad comes home for good. or at least what is left of him.
At the age of 18 i walk across a stage with my name called out to the crowd and my dad... He smiles...
At the age of 18 i discover i can sing again

Soft Walks

My grandmother once told me a tale of the native Americans. She said they were one with the natural world. They skirted it in silence, their footsteps left no track and made no sound. She said they killed even beast with regret. Gentle yet fierce.

Intrigued i began to walk lighter. Every step i took i now consciously picked a spot for my foot to land. I used only the pads. I wanted to be one with nature. By the age of 10 i might as well be full blooded. or at least full blooded for whatever passed in my mind as a native.

I found a special joy in walking in the forests at age 12. Alone i did not need to use my voice. I found i climbed well. No one judged me there. No bruises no beatings.

At age 14 my imagination was kick started. My father told me i am an 8th Native! Oh the wonders! Maybe i am one of these silent men! 

At age 15 i killed my first buck.

By age 16 i was the epitome of silence. I talked often yes but my footsteps were silent even in the dried leaves of fall. I was shadow. I had become what i wanted to become. 

At age 17 i met. She was quiet. She almost never spoke. Never imposed herself. She always walked on her pads. I thought us perfect. She didn't. We did not last long. 

Age 18. I make my way through the house. No matter how i try i can not stop my foot from striking like thunder. I was never what i thought i was.  

The streets song.

The crowds bustle and movement was rough and seemingly random if you were new to the pattern. It was a swirling mass of life and people. One could become lost and confused so easily. A man in a normal suit and red tie, blue tooth in his, navigated the vortex with skill. The man was a successful paper pusher making a nice salary. His success and routine gave him a confidence that showed. It was the kind of confidence that slackens the mind; as he walked he paid no attention to the world around him knowing it by heart. His mind was on other things; numbers and figures swirled in his head in a similar manner that the crowd swirled through the city streets.
Suddenly he heard something that snapped him back to reality. A voice breaking through the crowd as it passed him. It sang an old gospel song; it shot bullets straight to his heart and caused the man to shudder. He looked to the giant advertising screens above and saw no cause for the beauty. He stopped his forward march, now listening to a different drum. It seemed as if the whole world sang the song, though he heard only one voice and he could see none who sang it. Louder it grew piercing every barrier in his heart, failing every wall. He frantically searched the crowd around him for the source of the voice, or at least someone who heard it too so they could revel in its beauty together but found no one.
Slowly the voice faded and the man was left only with the sounds of people carrying on their lives. The people walked as if the business man had not just been shaken to his very foundation right before them. He looked down the road spotting the old stone church he had always admired for its architecture. He started off in that direction, a new appreciation for the structure found. His mind was silent, no numbers swirled, no stocks, nor legal arguments. He marched to a new drum now, though he knew not whose.

The Canyons Song

The sun bore down on the mans shoulders. His face almost seemed leather; wrinkled, tanned, and even scarred in some places. The long days and weeks he had spent in the desert shown. His boots crunched the burnt dirt as he pounded ahead. The mans beard was bushy and swung with his ponytail.Everything in the world that was his rested in his leather rucksack. His pack was made of an old leather and a scoped rifle hung from it, swinging with his movements.

The canyon walls sang with the sounds of the rushing water below. He looked around through a squint at the beauty that is this world thinking of how lucky he is to have seen so much of it. He had been walking in the blistering heat all day. 

Then he heard it. The singing of a man beyond compare. It was the single most beautiful voice he had heard in all his life. It rang from every wall and shook his bones. He froze midstep and simply listened. For a moment he craved the one thing he did not have. Companionship was the one thing that was missing from his life. He did not regret this, but he did crave it. Slowly the song drifted away its echo still sounding. The man continued smiling at how lucky he truly was to have heard the song before stepping off on his journey once again.

Checkmate

i vanquished you,
or so i thought.
but you were just hidden in shadow,
waiting for my candles to go out.
there you wait, 

skirting my vision,
hiding in my thoughts.
were you always there?
will you always be there?
I can feel you resting,
waiting for a mistake,
i can feel you preparing,
as you play a game of chess with my very life.
waiting waiting for the candle to go out,
so your reign can continue as it did before.

Pack your bags we leave today,
the sunset of another place awaits.
ruck on my back, rubber on my feet,
i move again.
my life on my back and i wouldn't have it any other way

Distance is no measure when it is tales of the heart,
the hero, the damsel, are never apart.
no matter what seperates,
what is true will always flourish,
as long as when i lay at night,
my mind can smile on you

The world didnt stop or disappear but it did to him. The walls and stoves, the cash register all faded to the outskirts of his vision ceasing to exist. The sounds and beeps always present always telling him what took place inside the store melted to static, a dull hum. Even his heart beat was no more to his ears. All because of the face he now stared at. Her lips, oh what beautiful lips began to move and they’re speaking what are they saying!?! They spoke the most beautiful phrase his ears had ever beheld. “I want a big mac"

fireflies

Can we stop for a moment and think about how truly brilliant this planet is? We have bugs that LIGHT UP THE NIGHT. Your're sitting outside on a warm summer night, the ground is still wet from rain and you can't see a thing. But there are fireflies LITERALLY lighting up your world. How can you not-at least for a minute- stop and smile at its overwhelming beauty?

The Burqa

The fire burned in her eyes, You tried to stifle it with a cloth, Though some womens flame you put out, Hers will never die, Until the burqa it will burn through.

The Precipice

Take me to the precipice, I want to cling to the edge.
Take me to the end, With my memories to look back on.
Take me close to death, Show me the worth of my life.

i do not want some useless college education. i don't want to change the world. i don't want to work and make money and have a big house. i want to see the world. and i want to write. every god damn day i want to see something new and write about. oh the inspiration i would see.

from an Anonymous Commenter. Its beautifully put

Timidity is for men who have passion weak enough to be restrained; don't let these fires die out! The fleeting flame of new beginnings may yet catch onto the forest. Be bold and best of luck!

a sense of awe creeps over, you want to move, to scream in terror, run and hide. to jump for joy or sing in praise but you can't move. so you stand. and stare. your mouth agape as a tear fills your eyes.

to start again beholds its own joy,
the burn of new romance; possibility and risk,
fleeting tho it is, its flame burns hot.
will it set fire to your forest or die in embers,
a foggy memory only seen on dark nights

simple beauty flashes before my eyes,
the sun comes in the window,
a hot meal,
those who love me,
life is good.

Valhalla

A jolting pain went up his thigh but still he didn't move. A cramp from sitting so still for so long. The man lay on his stomach cover in the fur he made his clothes from and had long but gray blonde hair and beard. The bushes he lay under gave him a spectacular view of the valley below and the elaborate and strikingly fantastic stone mansion on the opposite side, all of which was lit up by the sun only a little bit above the horizon.
A twig snapped further down the hillside, fifty feet by the vikings reckoning. He slowly and deliberately pulled back the string on his bow arrow already in place. The source of the noise didn't show itself until a few minutes later. A tall man with a clean shave, buzzed short hair and a green uniform filled to the brim with his achievements, holding a rifle with basic iron sights scanning the hill up and down looking for threats. 
The mans uniform was a work of art in itself. Ribbons seemed to take up his entire right side matched only by the medals below them. Aggulets covered his shoulders and a single blue medal hung from his neck, a yellow stripe running down each side of his trousers and similar stripes on his arm showing the rank of sergeant. The name on the left side said Murphy.
When the sergeant came into thirty feet, the Viking released his arrow and in one motion rose to his feet drawing his battle-axe. The arrow hit Murphy in the chest and exploded in a flurry of metal and ribbon knocking him off his feet. The Norse man screamed savagely as he charged. Murphy quickly rose to his feet and fired his last three rounds left from the day of fighting into the viking and it did little to slow him down. The monstrosity of fur and muscle raised the axe and swung to which Murphy attempted to block using his rifle but the arrow protruding from his chest slowed him down and he didn't get all of his strength behind it.
The brute force of the blow knocked Murphy onto his back and the viking raised his weapon for another blow. The sergeant rolled quickly snapping the arrow and causing tremendous pain but again the sergeant just pushed through. The axe bury's itself in the dirt slowing the vikings attempt to raise it again. 
From this distance it becomes apparent to the two men just how much bigger the viking is. Murphy pulls a knife from his boot and rolls forward and behind the larger man. Feeling this the viking reaches behind him just as the blade is placed to his throat and flips Murphy over his shoulders onto the dirt, and ripping the knife from his hands. The viking brought the knife up then plunged it into Murphy repeatedly and in a flurry of movement. When the sun dropped below the horizon he finally threw the knife aside and began limping towards the mansion on the opposite hill.
When he finally arrived he swung open the doors beholding the magnificent site before him. In the main hall sat the warriors of all nations. Spartans, Zulu, US and UK Marines, Samariua, Amazonians, Romans, Vikings, Mongols and all others who rose to meet him. Finally Murphy came forward from the crowd and began to clap and the others followed. As the clapping continued Murphy came to the man and the hugged and sat down together and talked and laughed with the rest, waiting for the sun to rise again and the fighting to begin again.


Updated version of Valhalla in honor of Lieutenant Audie Murphy, Medal of Honor holder and most decorated soldier in the United States of America's History. 

The Muddiest Gray

  Three deep breathes, then its time. In. What if. Out. They know. In. What. Out. I am. In. Doing. The man held his breath, thinking of everything that might go wrong over the next hour. Of every bullet that the guards fired could hit him, every bullet of his that could hit the guard, of the lives he could ruin or of his sons life. Yes his son. He needs this. There is no other way. Out. Relax.
  The man jumped out of his pick up. He had short cropped brown hair and a three piece business suit and shined shoes that reflected as mirrors would. He appeared to be a business man just walking into the bank. As he came through the front door of the Greer Bank he stuck his hand in jacket, and rubbed the handle of his nine millimeter hand gun, less familiar than it had been in previous days. He turned left coming the door and pulled something out of his pocket placing it by his ear. He talked into his cellphone loudly and angrily while standing beside a small potted tree.
  The guard glanced at the fancy man then walked toward the counter leaving his back exposed. The fancy man dropped the phone into his pocket and one motion pulled out his nine millimeter Ruger and face mask bringing both up to bear in less than half a second. The fancy man fired two rounds into the guard facing slightly askew of him before he ever had a chance, then fired another two as the guard with his back to him tried to spin around. In one more movement he fired a single round into the camera covering the floor. The line at the teller were now all kneeling and crying in fear.
  "Ladies and Gentleman please remain calm. I will not hurt you and will be gone in" glances at his watch "exactly two minutes. I apologize for your trouble." In the time it took him to say that he had made his way to the counter and had the teller filling his bag with money. When she gave it to him he winked through his mask then spun around and bolted out the door. In all this had taken less than three minutes and judging by the weight of the bag he was making off with two thousand five hundred dollars in twenties and fifties.
  Sirens blared in the background as his truck rounded the corner. The fancy man sighed a sigh of relief. His son would get the treatment. It would be ok.

Hero or Villain?

Where God Resides

                I suddenly became aware of the rocking of the dock. It was annoying to me. It was as if I wouldn't be able to continue the wonderful dream. I couldn't remember the dream. All I knew is that I loved every second of it. Suddenly I realized how warm I was. The sun was beating down on my chest and eyelids. How inconsiderate I thought, laughing to myself. I sat up and looked around. The sun was directly overhead and the sailboat was still tied to the left port. The sky was a deep blue with nary a cloud, but that could change at a moment’s notice. I looked at the dock itself and saw my cousin, Grayson, still fast asleep, long red hair obscuring his freckled face.

                I padded over to check the time on his phone and brushed the light brown hair out of my eyes. I was skinny, ungodly so, and very tan with only a touch of the red of sun burn marring my nose and cheeks. The battery was nearly dead and had automatically turned off Grayson’s semi-talented singers and banjos he likes. Lord knows you can’t text out here. Twelve thirty four. I had gotten up a hour earlier than the day before. I looked around at the various equipment scattered around the dock and decided against cleaning it up. Grayson would get it after today. I broke into a sudden run and took the dive of a practiced and familiar hand out of the left right port. When I came back above the waves I took a quick breathe and began swimming to shore. A good way to wake up and get some much needed exorcise, in my mostly sedentary lifestyle here.

                The swim was monotonous and exactly what I needed. By time I was climbing out up the sand and shell scattered shore line I was pondering the secrets and deep meanings of the universe. The view from the beach was obscured by the sand dune which was infest by ants and scorched black by our annual bonfire at the end of the week and our repeated, and vain, attempts to rid the dunes of the pests via gasoline. I climbed up the stairwell and turned left off of the dock and began to make my way to the house, dodging sand burs the whole way.

                The trees were a hue of green that exploded in your vision, the grass was fluffy and yellowish green, the bushes were big and filled with flowers, the hammock squeaked invitingly as it swung. So much beauty in such a small place, I thought, nothing like where I live now. Tennessee is such a dull place. Nothing to see, nothing to look at, in fact the only redeeming quality of that purgatory was the people, and only some of them at that. It is good to be home.

                I reached the house after what felt like ages, but was only two or three minutes. People buzzed about setting out plates and pot holders on the table set outside. My aunt with flaming red hair and freckles came out the door exasperated and stressed carrying a delicious looking breakfast pie. My mother came rushing angrily, as always, out the door after her, fussing about something or another. I slipped past, happy mom hadn't seen me, and went inside to find my other cousin, Savannah, and my uncle, Kenny, sitting on the couch.

                I began helping my grandmother move the rest of the food outside, and by time I got outside my mother was finished throwing her temper tantrum. The patience my family had developed was nothing less than divine. I caught a glimpse of Grayson running to the shed with the fishing gear in hand as my two younger brothers came from the road, probably playing on the canoe in Jack’s hole, a swampy watering hole used by bass fishermen and jet skis to change bodies of water.

                We sat together, bowed our heads, and prayed. I bowed and closed my eyes. God however wasn't in this particular prayer. I am sure he has no taste for our petty politics and certainly not over their struggle to make it in a corporate world. If he was anywhere, it was at night sitting at peace with me or in Iraq with my father as he fights for what he loves. We finished eating and then disbanded throwing away the paper plates and heading towards the beach.

My youngest brother Kris got there first, but I quickly caught up to him and threw him in the air. He laughed loudly in surprise and joy before splashing into the water. My brothers, my cousins, my uncle and I all played like that for hours, as my aunt and grandma watched from their lawn chairs on the dock, laughing loudly at us or their own jokes. My mother slept in the hammock where she was of no bother to anyone. Slowly the hours crept by and finally Uncle Kenny bowed out to start the charcoal on the grill; the sun was beginning its descent towards the power plant on the far side of the lake, the sky taking on a light orange tint.

Grayson challenged me to swim to the sand bar; a mile one way swim way beyond the dock and its illusion of safety. I thought myself fearless and accepted without hesitation. We swam for what felt like days. When I finally reached the sand bar my muscles ached and my mind was numb. Gray was only a short time ahead of me and was just as fatigued, but neither of us were ready to give up. He jumped from the waist deep water back to the deep end as soon as I touched down. I didn’t take time to rest and jumped off as well.

Every few moments I had to return my thoughts to the task at hand. I was wavering and could feel it. Every muscle cried for me to stop, every tendon and joint. My lungs burned for more air than there existed.  At every turn my thoughts were to return to the sandbar. I no longer cared about winning, only not drowning. Finally I stumbled on sand. I couldn’t feel a muscle but I stood and slowly waded the final twenty feet back to shore. The sky was now yellow and the charcoal grill could be smelled from where I was. I looked around to find Grayson and did not find him. He had turned back and I had won. My brothers were already braving the larger than normal waves to retrieve him.

I made my way to the house smiling sorely. The food was just coming off the grill and I was hungry beyond belief. My skin felt tight on my body as the water dried and the effects of the days sun sunk in. Dinner came shortly after the smell of the meat making my mouth water. We sat and prayed but my mind was on something else. Soon, I kept thinking. Soon it will be time once again. The excitement built up so that every second I looked around to see if everyone else had finished yet. I ached to go out there, to rush toward the dock.

Finally it was time; everyone was getting up and heading in to play hand and foot, a card game my grandmother and grandfather brought with them from Kansas. I retrieved our gear from the shed and walked, avoiding the sand burs, and to the deck. The sky was a red, the water orange as the sun glared in my eyes. The dock swayed back and forth under my feet as the waves lapped against it. This was the moment I had been waiting for all day, all year. It felt like days walking on that dock. I would never reach the end. The cicadas buzzed from shore and the clinking of the line on the mast of the sailboat beat a rhythm for me to walk on. The night spiders were beginning to weave their webs under rails of the dock, to many these were an annoyance, to me they were a blessing cutting down on the billions of mosquitoes and adding another layer of beauty to my home.

I reached the end and set down the tackle box and began casting lines. I had crossed a barrier. I stood now in a different world, while only a few football fields away from the house, they could have been from different countries and cultures that have never met. Gray’s and I’s family sat indoors answering the call they heard.

Ours was a different call. A call we could only answer for seven days a year. This call was one of peace. Every night at Lake Moultrie, South Carolina, hundreds maybe thousands turned on floodlights on their docks, their overheads on their boats and maglights from the shore. No matter where you looked, when the sun went down these lights blinked on. Some sat alone, most with a friend. All were silent. Simultaneously hunter and monk, peace and decisiveness were the center of the call. It is not for everyone.

The sun was long below the horizon but the hydroelectric plant glowed pink on the horizon. With exception of the other fisherman’s lights nothing could be seen beyond the glow of our floodlight. As I sat there, watching the fishing lines, listening to mediocre music, I sighed a deep breathe of contentment. This is where God resides.

Quote

"i was her fallback. the one she wants to settle down with. she knows i would make the perfect boyfriend and loves the idea of me but to make that change, to say it isn't just an idea anymore... it was too much i guess. i can't.. no i can. but i shouldn't have to. i WON'T keep waiting on her."

Quote

"you see it as never being full. i see it as every meal i eat is the best meal i have ever had. you see it as always working. i see it as relaxing like never before. everytime. you see it as taking the hard way. i see it as being about the journey. where you see hardship, i see reward. where you would rather do something you like, i do it because i do not enjoy it. Such is its own reward"

Home

Bone chilling cold enshrouds,
as if in frozen wastes,
i stretch my muscles,
aching for warmth.

I miss her arms,
her welcoming beams of light and heat,
thawing the depth of my wounds,
'llowing them, begging them heal,
her memories all i have.

my body  burns,
my eyes droop,
forever cold and bored.

my home awaits,
sandy dunes that scorch the feet,
water waxes and wanes,
storms of might and destruction; and rebirth,
she doe not wait for me though i wait for her.

there is a certain happiness and spiritual fulfillment that comes with utter exhaustion and soreness. it is your body's evidence that you made the most of your time.

take up your arms, head the call. the enemy marches at the gate, we march at the door. it is the soldier who protects, the soldier who gives