And what makes a woman so important
That her attention men would kill to get?
Life’s boat always seems to capsize
When I turn my head and realize
That our eyes have met.

And what makes a woman so important
That nothing tempts me more?
The greatest wars my mind has fought
To gain control of urge and thought
Were fought to guard that door.

I’m sitting by a river
with my feet below the water
wond’ring

Where we fly
When we die.

Sunset bathes the world in red;
Picture perfect once again.
My face is warm from sunlight but
the sun is sinking once again.
It tells me that the night is here,
the darkness with its shadows near.

Water swirls about me,
Soft and sweet but still I’m thinking
about

Where we fly
When we die.

Death is not a young man’s game;
In youth we have immortal frame.
This lie to me my mind has told,
we all believe it, just the same
but now the truth before me flows;
around my feet it clearly shows

that time is like a river
slowly moving to its glory
which is

Where we fly
When we die.

I know someday that I will fly
to unseen places when I die;
I live my life by knowing
that eternity awaits me

Don’t lie.

Look at me but don’t smile, it’s not alright.
Your eyes, the window to your soul,
Open wide against your will, I look inside.

Don’t lie.

Honeyed words and reassurance fails to hide.
My friend, I see your life;
The words don’t change my mind.

Don’t lie.

Walking past them makes me sad;
Minds blown with any substance you can name.
Life’s a game with no rules:
Just have fun ’til your life is done.

Life’s behind me, and I’ve just escaped.
That’s why I’m walking back.
Everything a man could want I’m leaving,
Slowly fading into black.

The music pounds inside my head, beats attack,
Remind me of the world
That waits behind my back.
But now I’m walking back to silence.

By God’s grace I’ve made this choice,
By his power I hear the voice
Calling me to leave behind the world,
To seek his kingdom, not my own.

A fool I’ve made myself to be before,
Lessons learned the hard way.
These lessons burn my brain tonight
As I turn away.

A thousand pictures crowd my mind
Of summers long gone by.
I feel poetic as I ponder hectic times;
Wild child imaginations that defy my rhymes.

Spending many years in one place breeds contempt
Or is that true?
Some trees, some sand, a lake, much better in my youth,
But lying on the picnic table reveals the truth.

So oft before I’ve been here, and longed to come
In youth with much anticipation.
Now I’m old and wishing I could still make anything fun;
A pinecone on the sand had meaning then, but now has none.

As memories cycle through, my purpose here seems clear:
I’ve come here to remember.
The past reminds us who we were, how we became this way;
The person that resides inside was built not now, but yesterday.

That’s why it’s often worth your time to go
To places seen before.
Thus I go, to the forest green, up the long highway
And when they ask me why I go, I say,

Dark wood was traded
For ugly white siding;
Woodchips and conifers
Replaced with just grass.
The old trees no longer
Stood silent watch.
Bay windows were missing,
Ivy walls laid bare.
I came back to my house,
But it wasn’t there.

Tonite the world’s problems would just have to wait.
No half-decent blogger would break through the state
Of silence surrounding the world as a whole;
The stillness continued exacting its toll.

Santa was coming, the Blogger had heard.
Over and over the radio slurred
With one stupid song after similar song;
Somehow, and somewhere, the world had gone wrong.

The Blogger knew better, for Santa was not.
Santa, he heard, had messed up and got shot
By Cossacks in Russia way back in the day.
My story’s as good as the next one, okay?

The point is that Santa, though already dead,
Must die one again, this time in the head
Of all who continue to push all this trash
With all sorts of merchandise, dreaming of cash.

So why was it quiet, perhaps you might ask.
We’re wond’ring ourselves, for it’s not a small task
To look down in the depths of a Blogger’s odd brain
And fish out the meaning, his posts to make plain.

Diesel Hum, Rubber’s Burning;
The talk last night goes through my mind.
Friends long gone, Some loved, Some lost;
Memories blurred, so unreal I find.

Dust flies thick, sticks to my skin;
All my body’s been spent, and yet
There’s one last push to the end.
My skin’s dripping, now I’m drinking sweat.