The Intersection

On the road more so traveled

I find myself at an intersection

One that can lead me anywhere

Lead me to more intersections

To more lights

Signs

And cars

To more people

Pedestrians

And possibilities

Then from there to even more intersections

Ones that tell me to stop

Yield

And go

Some that tell me to turn

Went to walk

And when to not

Now I am at one

One with infinite outcomes

One with infinite outputs

With so many variables

More than just x’s and y’s

More than just what equals the sum of 83

More than the area of a circle

And the first 20 numbers in pi

More than a spreadsheet on the table

It is so much more than a ticker number

Or a 500 word article that ends up on page 7

It is more than what lies before me at a desk

In the middle of a cubicle

In the center of a bullpen

On the 20th floor of an office building

On the street that no one cares to name

I am at an intersection

Full of wonders

Hopes

And dreams

I am at an intersection full of lanes

And I cannot choose one

I am caught in the median without a guide

Then I see them

Through the timid light of dawn

And the shadows that mimic and mock

All that I see is a little being

Standing in the middle of the street

Alone and impatient

Standing there and waiting

For someone to come

Driving down this parkway

Down this Lane

Down this Boulevard

Driving down without attention

Looking someplace else

Being someplace else

Not see them standing here

Not see them till they are gone

Far from here

And far beyond

I swerve but to no avail

There is a crash without a burn

There is a body without a life

They are gone and I am left

Left to clean up a mess that I did not make

This is what my intersection brought to me

This is what came of each choice

This is what has become of me

I will never be the same as I was

Before the intersection

End of All Days

   This is the time that will be remembered forever. This is when everyone will look back in either disgust of in sweet pleasure. I don't know which for I will relish life in sweet neutrality. When we shall fade and blow away into oblivion and see the blinding light of our diminishing, everlasting sun. When we shall no longer have books for they will become warmth when all the power fails for its final time. An eternal blackout. Everyone expects violence and panic, but most are too scared to leave their homes in fear of what is in their own heads.

Walking the Halls

I walk down the halls, following each tile, so simply laid out. I walk to the place were destiny awaits. Where my fate rest in the hands of a man who, some unknown way hates me. That despicable face, I will forever loath the day I first met him and forever love the day when I leave. I walk to the room that will forever haunt me. I walk down the endless hall to seek out my forever ending fat. It is judgement day. It is the hour, minute, moment, second, when I shall arrive and see the smirk ripped of his He will tell me to leave and never come back, but I will remind him of who I am. I will tell the truth of his unlawful prejudice and speak it to the world. He wants to tell me that I cannot leave without my pride, but I shall stay with my head held much higher than before. Even if the fates don't allow I shall fight and forever walk there hells, No more torture, ridicule, or pain. No amount of torment could ever keep me away. When all is said , and all is done, I shall walk back down this hell. I will not run.

A Myth About the Stars

    Once there was a wise old man and he had a magic crayon make of frosty white snow from the highest peak of the tallest mountain, the sparkliest crystals form the darkest cave, the wax from the sweetest honey bees, and in the light it twinkled like the joy in a child’s eyes. Now this man made the crayon because every night the sun would set and there would be no light. So the wise old man would climb up the highest mountain everyday and as the sky turned black he would draw a little star in the sky to help illuminate the velvety cloaked night. He would then walk down to the village and rest. Then in the following days he would continue on.

However, one day, a curious little boy saw how the man climbed the mountain and how he would draw a single little star every night. The little boy wanted to draw a star as well, so one night after the man came home, falling fast asleep, the boy tip toed in and stole the crayon. The little boy could not wait to start lighting up the night sky so he set out, up the mountain.

The next morning the wise old man woke up and looked for the crayon. He searched the entire morning, but to no avail. He thought and thought about it all morning until it was time for him to journey up the mountain. Then he set out on the long trail once again without the crayon.

Finally when he reached the top the wise old man saw the little boy with the magic crayon. The little boy say on the top of the mountain and looked down upon the valley as he waited for the sun to finally set and for the night to come. The old man didn’t want to startle the little boy and knew that he would tire out soon, so the old man sat down and leaned back against a small tree that was nearby. A short time later the wise old man fell asleep, but the little boy did not. The little boy stared up at the black sky and how all the little stars glittered in the sea of ink. Then he stood up and reached as far as he could and drew a single star. The little boy loved the feeling of creating something so beautiful, so he drew another and another, until he had drawn five new stars. Then he had an idea, “why not make a picture in the sky?” So the little boy started to draw a picture with the stars until he had a small spoon in which he called the little dipper. Then he drew another one right next to it, but bigger. Then he drew more and more pictures all over the night sky. 

Just as the little boy was finishing his last illustration, the old man woke up and saw what he had done. The old man sprung up like a freed spring and ran at the boy. The little boy then lept up and landed on a star. The old man stopped and looked up at the little boy standing on one of the many stars that he had drawn. He was puzzled, but decided to do the same, knowing that he need to get his magic crayon back. The old man hopped up and landed wobbly on a star next to the little boy. The boy then lept to another that was farther away from the old man. The old man followed in an uneasy pursuit. Then began the chase that still continues on today and every once in a while you can see the little boy with the crayon darting across the sky in a blink of an eye.

Running Man

   I stand there hunched over with my hands resting above my knees. I’m out of breath and almost out of road. I had come to find that in my retreat I had lost my right shoe and was left with only a sock revealing a hole exposing my large toe. Sweat rolled off the top of my newly shaved head like rain, slipping down to my eyebrows and gliding off of them as though they were gutters. Then finally falling off the face of the house and puddling on the ground. The seen in which I had just come from was one that no man should ever see. The feeling that gnawed at me in side was one that no man should ever feel. It was more than fear, more than terror, more than an other gut wrenching feeling combined. It was gruesome and warped. The memory will always be imbedded and gnarled in my mind. Faces blurred into infinity, so important yet to some, so meaning less. I can still hear the screams. The story would be front-page come morning, as I heard the police rushing by as I frantically ran. I was a witness. The warnings seem so obvious to me now as I recall it all, though at the time I saw none. The fate was inevitable, but could it have been postponed? In the light of all that had happened the sun still shone brightly as the day slowly faded away. Its raise beating down upon my swollen face, the humidity in the air weighed heavily on me, breathing was like trying to swim in a pool of tar. My lungs burned and my heart felt as though it were about to give out. A gash resided on the left side of my face, though no blood left from it. “What in the world is left for me to do? Surly there was something, but what?”

"Funny Valentine"

   Oh how the trumpets sound and the sweet melody of the saxophones. The trill of the flute and my foot tapping to the steady beat of the drum. Then his voice plays of the speakers. Its floats in the air and sends a chill up your spine as you sit back and relax. "Good Ol' Franky Boy" mother used to say. He stood up there like a gentleman. All the women in that place swooned over him. It was like Macy's on Black Friday, just without the chaos. He started out fast to arouse the crowd, then slowed down to "Funny Valentine." Oh how I adore that song. I mean, prenez-moi la maison mon amour, oops sorry. I love that song.
   Then with all his cockiness he sings "I've got the world on a string, sittin' on a rainbow. Got the string around my finger. What a world, what a life, I'm in love!" Yup that's Franky for ya. 

The Young Union Soldier

 Today I had to make one of the hardest decision of my life, past, present, and possibly future. I had to run away from my family, home, and everything I knew to join the Union. To join the great big blue. To where the coat with the double-breasted buttons shiny and new. To fight for the freedom and the rights of others. I want not only to hear about the fight, not only to see the battle, but be along in the struggle as well. I want to load my rifle, powder and ball. I want to aim. I want to hear the canons shout and roar. The popping chatter of the guns. But I don't want to shoot. I don't want to kill or harm anyone. I know I have to, that I have no choice, but I can't. I just can't. To pull the trigger would not only be the death of another man, but also of myself. To know that I've caused bloodshed would make me bleed sorrow for years to come. My heart breaks at the thought of making someone else's stop. I know I must fight to protect my men, my family, me, but I just can't shake notion. The feeling. The pain. Though all of this is for the right reason. For the right cause. For others’ rights. I just can't do it. So shoot me down dear Lord, for if I fail you, but I cannot murder. I cannot harm. I will not murder. I will not harm.

True Love, Young Love

She stands there, waiting for him to arrive. She wonders if he will ever come to find her. She waits for another moment and looks around. Turning over the idea of leaving in her mind over and over. Then he's there, walking up from behind. He finally reaches her and wraps his arms around her. He leans over just enough to whisper in her ear "I love you." She recognizes his voice and the warmth radiating off his strong muscular arms. She repeats the phrase back to him as he twirls her around. They gaze into each other's eyes with such affection that it would melt even the coldest of hearts. Then, for just a mere moment, their lips meet. Chills run up their spines as their knees grow weak. Then they just stand there. Spending borrowed time, as they embrace one another. Surrounded by an overwhelming feeling of passion and joy.

Oh Sparrow with No Sorrow

  The sparrow flew free as the wind. Soaring through the breeze. Gliding upon wings of an angel. With such grace, I wish I could be her. Flying high above the world and looking down from her point of view. She seems so happy. So content with life. Then again, I would be too if I didn’t have a care in the world. If only I could be her. If only, if only.

April 18, 1775

  Pardon my step as I walk through your shadows. Of your buildings and posts so grand. Hanging from them, such a magnificent diadem. I bid you good morning as I pass you by in your stony stage to receive no reply. I wish you good fortune as I take in my breath. Though you should heed my warning and hear my cry. As the midnight hour strikes, we shall ride.

The New Girl (revised)

   There she stood, with one foot in the door and one on the freshly polished hallway floor. She was the new girl. The smell of desperation, heavy perfume, and the highly toxic liquid that hardens on your fingertips, surrounded her. There was only one thing on her mind and that was either to stay or to sprint out of the devilish place that some had come to call school. After a moment or so of searching for her answer and weighing her decisions she came to a conclusion. So she took her foot out of the door and decided to fight for her life just to get to her locker. The massively jammed halls led to different locations, in which she knew none of. She needed so desperately to find room 127 but the closest door to her read 003. This was going to be the longest nine months of her life. She inhaled a breath that, unfortunately, didn’t knock her unconscious. ‘If only I could just find a way to faint, then I could go. Get way from this dreadful place and never come back,’ she thought to herself, ‘If only…’ That’s where the thought stopped because at that very moment someone knocked the books right out of her hands. Down to the floor they went, like an avalanche cascading off Mt. Everest in the Mahalangur section of the Himalayas. She only wished now that this was all just one very bad dream that she would wake up to any minute now. But sadly, the refreshing reawakening did not come. 

4th of July

The cool crisp air stood still as the children danced through the night. Magical and under appreciated, the light heartedness of the youngsters that wonder about in such a daze from all of the lights that twinkle, glitter, and shine high up in the night sky. Sparklers spit out their blazing beads. Boom! The canons shout late after the fire goes out. Explosions of colorful arrays of light. More than just stars tonight.

I'm a Little Furry Bandit

What I have to do just to get by in life. Not to starve. To be able to see the sun come up tomorrow and the stars tonight. I dig through the rotting garbage of humans that own the big forest size houses. I normally find some decent scraps there. The smaller houses rarely have any. I guess they don't believe in giving to the “lower class.” I don't believe that because I'm not like them I should be subjected to this type of treatment. Just because I look like a furry little cartoon bandit. Though if stealing the rubbish out of gleaming aluminum cans were a crime I would be sent to the big house for twenty-five to life. I tend to laugh at this notion.

Snowman

   The sun is bright, blazing through the clouds. The wind blistering and harsh at times, but right now, only a subtle breeze. If only spring hadn't come. If only winter could stay. Stay with the snow and frost. Oh yes I love the spring and all it's joys. All it's flowers and warmth. I wish I could see more, but by then my time is up and I can stand no more. Every year the same thing happens. Year after year I'm built and I stand tall. Then spring comes and I melt away into only a little puddle. A puddle smiling back with coal, buttons, and a carrot nose. 

Then you realize

As the wind blew the shutters shook
The ground steady, but your legs shake with fear
The broken glass crept along the ground
Scattered by the blow they tried to fix the effect of the tragic memory
Flowers limp on the ground
Love gone with the breeze
And your heart crushed with agony
Then you realize...

You just got dumped

Poker Face

  I find my self in the basement of my colleague's house. The burning Cuban tobacco fills the room with an unmistakable scent that mixes with the muskiness of the pouring rain. The term "six feet under" doesn't hold a candle to this. I'm ten feet down and ten grand in. If there was ever a chance to turn back, now was not the time. The air is still as the sky rumbles. The roaring of the lions high over head and the flash of their illuminate manes, breaks the tension hovering in the muggy jungle air from time to time. Beads of sweat roll down my neck as I glance at my cards one last time. I've bet all that I brought and the cards in my hand waver in the fate of my destiny. Should I leave with the luck of the draw and the pot placed in front of me or leave with not even a thread of dignity left to my name? I feel uneasy, jumpy, on pins and needles, hung up on a string by the tattered collar of my over-used, under-appreciated polo shirt. My fate rests in the hands of people around me. I will not sleep tonight...

A thoughtful thing

Some were in time there is, was, and will be a box. It sits in a corner facing the sun while in the shade from the ceiling above. It does not move but breathes in the dust.

Cinderella

I'm Cinderella 

I befriended my Fairy Godmother 

I went to the ball

And danced with the prince

I stand in front of him now 

And wonder

Does he see me as the girl he met last night

Or does he see me only as the rags that I call my clothes and my woes that surround me

The Pirate Ship That I Rode!!!⛵

This goes to my peeps in Jersey....

I rode on a pirate ship,

But it was like no other.

It was big...

No,

Oh no it was HUGE..,

And orange. 

It had so many levels and rooms...

Like a video game.

But it wasn't just the ship that amazed me,

Because when I looked out over the water...

It was green!

Not like the other pictures that you see,

Where the water is blue.

But what made my head spin...

Was the name of it!

Because most pirate ships have scary names...

Like Sea Hag, or Black Death.

No 

No 

No

It was named...

The Ferry

Day and Night

The sun rises
Then It sets

The moon shines
The night's protector
It watches over the dreams

Then...
Finally...
It too sleeps
Fading into to light

And the sun then says
Hello