Standing here on the roadside, and catching myself daydreaming about the way things sometimes are, and see the ones all love are the ones that are hurt the most when they should be the ones who shouldn’t be hurt at all. And it seems in most cases they seem to take pride in covering up the truth with lies, with their corrupt ways making them blind. As if they had drunk deep from the waters of those rivers of blindness near the whirlpool of lies. Making what’s good bad, and what’s bad becoming now good, in their thought dreams.

I have found I have stepped back in memory so many times that the tracks I have left would have worn through stone with life not always showing me a smile. With there being times when I have felt like the human being who hears footsteps over my grave, as I listen to the conversations of the living. As it sometimes helps to be both visible and invisible, and they will never know the sacrifice made along with the hurt I suffered, nor the pain I have taken and risen above. And still, I make my way down the line following those; highways, backroads, and railroad tracks. Wondering at times if I move fast enough if I can move through time? But, then again this is my life and for living it, I will pay, and I will also reap what I have sown, and I wonder if there is anything left to fear or if there is anything left of me besides those scars I carry like souvenirs that the sun’s dark light couldn’t or wouldn’t heal?

All in all, I continue to carry on like that lone soldier who in the final end won the war after losing every battle. Being how I felt when I said goodbye to that beast out there on the borderline after feeling reborn in a raging thunderstorm and it irks those who stand in judgment that I’m still breathing, and find solace in the deepest recesses in my mind where they can’t reach. And one day when all their corrupt ways finally catch up with them they will be found in a ditch with no one with them but the flies buzzing around their eyes. As the wind, can be felt blowing through the dust on the shelves and fanning the flames pouring out the door of that boxcar burning on the siding, and the flames are hypnotic for a reason or for a season.

Sick of all the people talking and saying nothing, and the dull roar of noise they make, and wisdom is thrown in jail to rot in a cell and become misguided as hell. And little by little you find yourself turning to the middle and never being sure why you are here. With peace being not welcome at all or finds it’s self either turned away at the door or be thrown up against the wall. They say that history and gravity holds things down and that destiny drives all things apart. I carry my choices and hide my regrets and know that old habits die hard, and someday I might be missed by those I have left behind or have touched their lives.

So, I’ll head over those green hills and down the main street under those electric lights, as I continue to make my way on down the line. With nothing being set in stone as I watch all things come to pass and breathe in the view. Knowing it’s part of me and it all seems clear inside of me looking for answers to a mystery wherever these roads might lead, with anything being possible. Keeping my faith with me and holding on to it for the bad times along with hope which sometimes seems to keep me going, and I feel alive knowing I can make it on a wish and a prayer if I need to.

Copyright: Timberwolf International LTD. November 2016 – 54