Tokens of Life

What is the cost of a dream

Not the capital or the initial investment

More importantly the hours laboring and spent

Rather than being well rested

What is the emotional cost

Is it two tokens

If I could somehow come up with a value

Two tokens of life

If it all works out do you get those back and more

Are you delivered from seeing your time

Wasted in hopes of achieving

Rather than just ending poor

And broken

What is the average

Per day

If not achieved is it wasted

Thrown away

Can I accept this

Failure is only owned when you label it

Give it a name and recognize it

But I refuse to do so

Call it reckless

But this is how it goes

I must continue on this path

Continue to let go

To see anything through

Through and renewed

To see what these life tokens can do

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Continual Postage

Continual postage

Send me on my way

Held back

Deferred another day

What can send me out

Into the world

Hurled out with no precise measure

Regardless of challenges or pleasures

This will be my postage

Paid upon sending

I have paid it due

For once my stamp is applied

I must see myself through

Separate Hands

We all sit around a fluorescent fire

Comforted by being side by side

Yet in a complete new world

Each of our minds

Has gone to find

Together we are in physicality

But in reality

We could not be farther apart

So we watch our fires

Burning in our hands

Selfish held plans

A new sense of community is born

From the hand held fires

That burn all night long

Separating us from

Dusk to dawn

Morning Exercise

The purpose behind

The green outside

In a winter morning

Simple prose upon warming

Keep inspiration flowing

The more you make

It’s yields keep growing

So at 9:20 AM

Hoping for a new set

Of inspiration

Looking for new adventures of writing

Looking low

Hoping the ideas are not hiding

I let my fingers and mind go

And this is what it has to behold

Unfettered Risk

The risk of the situation

At hand

Money, life, time, love

Put on the line

Inhibitions to the wind

But sometimes I way awake

In the early hours of the morning

Wondering

Restrained

Breathing

As the light turn out to on

From black to the palest of blues

Have I done the right thing

For me

For you

One can only hold their breathe so long

Before the body reacts

I have to get some sleep

Find a way to relax

But somehow I have grown to love this life

Uncertainty abounding

There is something romantic

Not knowing where the next paycheck is found

So I close my eyes and count to 10

And I slowly fall asleep again

Creation with No Expectation

I don’t wish for much this year

Just good luck to take for next year

Going to need it as I look down the line

Can see a lot atop the mountain in Christmastime

I have peaked from a valley

Not to be underwhelmed with what lays ahead

Sometimes I see more mountains

That lay out over the riverbed

But one foot in front of the other keeps me going

Keeps us going

I try to make sense of this journey sometimes

Is it a worthless novel ride

With no beginning and no finish

Peoples salacious appetites

To consume what is finished

No care for time, matter, or commitment

So crude and raw

Yet the creative process draws on this all

Creation with no expectation

Give in hopes of smiles in exchange

So this year I ask not for riches or gifts

Rather that one of these songs we wrote

Can lie amongst the greatest hits

Three Letter Prose

Building rows

Of three letter prose

Steady up

And steady grows

Sunday Mornings wane lightly

Just enough momentum

To get flying

Breakfast, lunch, and dinner

In the midst of a mild winter

Growing up

But not growing old

This is how the week

Slowly lulls me back

Ready to begin

Again

Inconsistent Yield

Barring my specialized field
Ups and downs
From town to town
The inconsistent yield
Making my mind weathered thin
Confused from the state I am in
Suit ties and holiday parties
Mind wandering
I have put to test my net worth
On the field of song
For what it’s worth
Money comes and goes and
Slides through the holes in my clothes
Said a singer of great prose
I hold on to where the world goes
Underwhelmed by humanities desire
For love of art and thinking higher
With lost love
Heart wrenched and hammered
But we give all we have
To try to escape
The new standard

Rhetorical Confessions

Continual manifestation
The contiguous creation
I have nothing but these notes
Floating from my soul
Out, up, filling the sky
And vacant holes
Less my life of possessions
Made through rhetorical confessions
Of undone music sessions
I hold not many
Nor own none
So these musical hulls
Owned in my own
Finished writing
I see my life flash like pink lightening
This life demands simple pleasures
And I take my happiness from that
The one and only measure