This Fort January 13, 2010

We built this fort
with all the
energy and optimism
of youthful sport.

A solid foundation
well-laid out
Precise execution
absent of doubt.

It would be the best
there’s ever been!

But we grew tired
And the cold crept in.

Numb and weary
we ditched the plan
Throwing on the layers
as fast as we can.

Certain we’ll
go back later
To fill in the gaps
and empty craters.

On we went
with the rest of our lives
Leaving the fort
on it’s own to survive.

And though we thought
all remained the same
It seems somehow
so much had changed

Imperceptibly,
a little at a time,
It twisted and fell
into yours and mine.

Now here I stand
in the dark, alone
A bit of a stranger
in this place called home.

Clearly I see
that solid foundation
But the mess on top
pricks my eyes with frustration.

I wrestle with the demons
Which ones tell the lie?
Best to start all over-
this can’t be built too high.
Or it’s strong and sturdy,
only slightly awry.

Either way, I pray
my faith will grow stronger
Because I can’t look
any longer
at what used to be
should be, could be
may be.

Turning away
with a silent sigh
kept inside
the tears not cried.
Even with a fort
some things still die.

I Wonder December 31, 2009

Eventually
could you always be
like too tight jeans
on day number three?
Moving with me
snug and comfy

Because
I sense my dreams
pressed up against the seams
straining to get through
on days one and two.

Once more
it’s day number four
time to launder
a weary chore.

Shouldn’t it be
fresh and clean
full of hope and renewal?
Depressing instead,
painfully cruel.

That sense of feeling
right at home
rinses away
in sudsy foam.

Then the struggle
to re-commit
to shrink to fit
and just admit
this is it.

A lifetime
spent
on days one, two, and four
The threes, far and few
quickly flew
before I knew.

Maybe
I wouldn’t find
a better pair
that doesn’t bind
to stretch and wear
until threadbare.

But I wonder.

Obligations December 22, 2009

If I clear my calendar
Of all obligations
Deadlines and do lists
And even celebrations

Will I stop being hurtled
Through time and space
Passing by at a startling pace.

The clock ticks slower
When there’s nothing to do.
But boredom presses down
A thick, noxious fume.

I find joy in doing
That much is clear
The shift from freedom to duty
That kills the cheer.
Again and again
I end up here.

I know it’s only
My perspective
Forgetting each commitment
Was once an elective.

And always we’re choosing
What path to move along
To join in the races
Or step away from the throng
To fill in the spaces
Or leave time for our song.