The kids will be marching through the door soon to be off to fight in another war, and will have plenty of tales to tell in exchange for getting a hero’s farewell being given to them. And I wish they would discern what Lenin once said about patriotism being the last refuge of a scoundrel, as they walk in time to the tolling of the bells. Having me wonder if they truly know or realize that usually in most cases that heroes weren’t made to survive? For I once stood there in their shoes and when I was young like them I also had a thirst for standing proud and tall when the colours passed.

And when I came back I wanted to run away and hide, and wondered if there was anything else left inside of me under those scars I carried like souvenirs, and that the sun’s dark light couldn’t or wouldn’t heal, which showed what I have been through in this Vale of Tears or Bittersweet Symphony known as life. And felt like putting up a barrier to keep myself away from everyone, knowing that there was nothing really left to see of me standing there. While I spent my time pacing the room and praying for some sort of salvation, and no one understanding and has me wondering why no one else can see? As I lost some years and acting like they were my last, and watched them being spent like some sort of a fool’s gold.

And now there are times when it seems as though I am walking like some sort of a wandering ghost through the wasteland, and dealing with that Devil in my head who makes me wish I had laid it all down and died. With these being strange times and finding most of the miracles seen are mostly lies, so I watched my shadow and tried not to see those colours above, and made my way down the line. Following that old dirt road to wherever it leads, and asking all those I meet and pass not to get up as I am just passing through.

Knowing that it is a fine line that’s being walked and asking myself at times if I am real or not, and there are times when waking from nightmares is worse when I am awake, with there being nothing I can take other than white knuckling through, and hoping the collateral damage we all carry is not to severe when it gets added to those things I carry, as I weave around the obstacles they put in my way, with my reasons for it all. And wondering at times if I should believe the lines on my hand, or should I open my fists and take all that I have missed, though I know the web between my fingers covers all I have left behind?

It seems to me at times there is a rhythm and rush some days where all seem to stand there feeling empty except for those few dreams that remain, here in a world that has gotten to be smaller, and shallow, as well as mean. And it seems when the sorrows come; they do not come singly like spies in the night, but instead in the form of battalions invading. With the meaner side of life making me stronger than any will ever know, and carrying a heart of steel deep inside.

So if you see me; I ain’t talking in most cases and will be just walking down this dirt road as I make my way on down the line. Hoping one day these chains I wear will be shattered and finally freeing me.

Copyright Timberwolf International LTD: March 2016 – 13