an oldie but goodie

Dear buffer,

Another letter, they seem to be becoming quite the habit. It’s been great. It’s been fun. It’s been just plain dramatic. I mean I have enjoyed it all the while it lasted, but I am frustrated.

I like you yet I can’t do anything about it. Some days you like me, and my world just seems to revolve around it, others you’re hot then you’re cold and that leaves me less bold. I must admit I have thought of us growing old, but I’m not sure our story gets that far told. I mean I can’t even see past the horizon of tomorrow where the sunsets on this chapter, and much seems to be pointing to a never ever after.

Yet in my heart of hearts, there’s hope against all hope, and while I’m thinking that’s dope, I realise I can’t really cope. I don’t even know what I am writing anymore, I guess I just miss you and it’s all that has to be said, how true.

I guess I can only list the things I’ll miss the most: the furtive wink, o thou single eyed blink, the 2 minute stare we share, and the envious glare all else bear..... So yeah..... *sigh*

I’m not going to call anymore, don’t expect a knock on your door but I wish you better years, ones absent of any fears and salty tears.

Again, was never really yours,

Boo boo.

I'm not a poet

I’m not a poet but my pen and I, we form the perfect duet, running riot as my emotions sets us into motion painting pictures of blissful memory, harmony, pain and catastrophe. We move in sync as we mimic the copulating ritual of two bodies bound for life expressing thoughts and ideas that would otherwise remain potential... and this is essential really because I need to express what I feel truly.

I’m not a poet, just a keen observer, a lost sojourner, and a student of life, love and lust, just another man from the dust piecing together patterns of the human experience at a pricey expense. A lost soul, a rebel absent of cause and a prisoner of time tossed through sand, clay and lime further hardened by the furnace of time, realizing that sometimes the fallacy is just the truth that we cannot see.

So... I’m not a poet... just another man who thanks God for spell check and prays often that the teller doesn’t bounce the cheque, probably one plagued with many questions often seeking directions, well aware of his imperfections wishing he was the ladies’ number one selection... but no... So ... He wonders if he could have all he wanted really, all that he longed for deeply,” would I still just be... awesome me?”

Well you guessed it... I’m not a poet just another man who can’t figure the wrong from the right and finds it hard to strictly follow the one true light, so he hugs his pen ever so tight as he finds it hard to walk the fine line while he is surrounded by patches of grey and has to face each day with its dismay as they come as they may...so I seek the wisdom in words, find the beauty in all the worlds hoping they give a clue as to what to do and some days they just do... and when I’m left blue I take delight in knowing the future is bright, pick my pen and start to write at the creative impulse from the flow of the divine that comes out of this pen of mine, well knowing  that this mosaic of ups and downs is a picture of unfathomable beauty orchestrated solely by destiny.

And if you haven’t figured it out really... I’m not a poet just a guy that needs to express himself freely.