I pulled a trigger and I’m not proud.
There was no blood but it sure was loud.
I said some things I shouldn’t have said.
Words shot out and stuck in their head.
My friends’ brain exploded, oh what a mess.
It was a poor choice of words I do confess.
I brought up a secret from long, long ago.
I thought it resolved but I guess not so.
Should I be silent or edit my speech?
What is OK and what’s out of reach.
I’m sure they’ll call when the wound heals.
I’ve been there before, I know how it feels.
Years have gone by with never a slip,
while I watched them drown, sip by sip.
Was it so bad to call them a drunk?
Am I a bad guy, an ass or a punk?
I know it’s a sickness and not their fault.
But why’s intervention seen as an assault?
When they’re sober maybe then they’ll see,
they pulled that trigger long before me.
My mind’s blank but I can’t complain,
it’s certainly better than being insane.
But if I was, how would I know?
Would I feel high or way down low?
Would I be happy or angry or sad?
Would I be good or be really bad?
Could I still write? Could it be read?
Would I know if I were alive or dead?
Would I be recognized by friends I meet?
Would I wander aimlessly up and down the street?
Would there be a reason for the questions I ask?
Could I complete a minimal task?
Would I care or would I hide in shame?
Or would my life be pretty much the same?
I don’t have the answers, at least not today.
But if I’m asking, I’m probably OK.
On the lookout for my last place to dwell,
some were OK, some looked like hell.
Seen a grand old home in a bad part town,
but it was too high and they wouldn’t come down.
We saw one so scary, ghosts wouldn’t live there.
I’m picky I know but I think that I’m fair.
My home now is charming; I’ve been here for years.
Saying goodbye I’ll probably shed tears.
I’m close to a harbor and a quaint Main street.
My neighbors are close but mostly discrete.
I have no garage and I’d like some land.
I’d prefer something wooded to the beach sand.
Though a lakeside retreat would surely be fun,
I’d soon be drowned paying for one.
I’d like something older and properly restored.
I don’t need a hobby cos I’m never bored.
I don’t need a compound or a pasture for beasts.
But a barn would be nice to house family feast.
So the search goes on, but I’ve no worries or fright.
It’s like finding true love; you know when it’s right.
Words can be simple, instructions often not.
Some can build a future, most just forgot.
I claim no bias; I share what’s been seen.
I note what I’ve heard, the answers in between.
Not everyone with wealth has money.
Not all are as sweet as honey.
Most work hard and stay in one place.
Some open doors with the smile on their face.
While some are truly brilliant, some are not so bright.
Most are simply average, some see the light.
Happiness is free, misery has a cost.
Choose the right direction and never feel lost.
I don’t think I’m old, though getting up in years.
I’ve had my share of laughter and shed many tears.
I write every day and I try not to preach.
But to share your love with others nothing’s out of reach.
Mornings hide in darkness to an untrained eye.
Light fills the mind. Who needs a sunlit sky?
Wheel’s always turning; they get us here and there.
Thought moves us forward, making us aware.
Hate infects the soul, love mends a heart.
Memories fill the void at times when apart.
Words can flow like water, but not all fit to drink.
Edits smooth the surface the deeper that we think.
Actions set in motion the motives of our will.
Results always happen regardless of our skill.
Infants of the night, stars will guide the way.
The universe is infinite or so our eyes will say.
Seeing is absolute, visions much less clear.
Plans are two dimensional stumbling on a sphere.
Life’s full of surprises, full of good and bad.
Time is unpredictable, why would some choose sad.
Poets make predictions, half are mostly true.
Honesty measures accuracy, what shade of gray are you?
Poems can be too lengthy with no end in sight.
I’m predicting this is one, so I’ll say goodnight.
With Valentine’s Day now over,
it’s time to think of clover.
The reds have left the room,
now’s time for greens to bloom.
Soon Saint Paddy will have their say.
And everyone’s Irish for that one day.
We’ll all feel lucky and have great fun.
Our joy will be shared, all as one.
Like the four seasons the clover has four leaves.
And luck too will change as one believes.
While some things are real, some we choose to see.
And like a Valentine nothing’s ever free.
The winter soon will end, spring’s almost here.
Summer and autumn will complete our year.
Though another year older we’re a bit more wise.
Think every day a holiday but without the lies.
Share a toast with someone new.
Pick a flower for a special few.
And show your love to all your friends.
Then our holidays will have no ends.
Cupid’s precise with arrow and bow,
eyes tear as these words flow.
Emotion’s flood from every pore,
love’s felt to my very core.
Heart’s beating our lives song,
all’s been noted and nothing’s wrong.
We’ll paint our future clear and bright.
The darkness past now filled with light.
Our canvas is large with more to grow.
Our vision’s grand and we now know,
I am hers and she is mine,
now to each a forever Valentine.