Sunday, August 16, 2009

All the Lonely Do

This is all the lonely do.
Please stay here, I'll be back soon.
Soil shifts beneath my shoes.
Please don't fight me, I want a truce.

I'll be back sometime today.
At that point, I'll have things to say.
Please be sure I'm in decay
Before you put my body away.

Just slow down, let me take a rest.
This may be my last request.
I'm only here at your behest.
Something to say, get it off my chest.

This is what I must confess:
For many a long year there's been too much stress.
Truth I'll say and nothing less.
Feel I'm getting the full court press.

Weight of the world comin' down on me
I beg of you, give me the chance to flee.
If you're so blind that you cannot see,
I suggest you pray to the Almighty.

Friday, August 7, 2009

road to peace

We just got Grams settled into her poofy green recliner. On the ride home from the hospital, she began pulling at her hair, stripping her head of its contents. the light gray wisps flew out the window as i drove down I-235. This used to be my town. I've been gone for five short years. It's the same place, but it's younger, more lively. Grandpa didn't say much on the ride home. He occasionally remarked about a sign we passed. 'Donutland For Lease. Gas is up...$2.60.' Russell Thomas McNamara is a stout Irishman. He grew up during the Great Depression and has remained practical his entire life. It wasn't until a couple years ago that he noticed his mind slipping away. Nevertheless, he has an aura of peace about him.