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.
When I was just a small boy,
perhaps seven or eight,
I didn’t want to go to bed;
I wanted to stay up late.
But when I’d sneak back downstairs,
for some TV and a snack,
my mom would be there waiting.
And boy I’d get a smack.
That seems so long ago now,
and my how things progressed.
Slaps have been reconsidered,
now more creatively addressed.
The mischief too has waned,
but I still stay up too late.
The TV no longer excites me,
but man the snacks are great.
It’s funny what’s remembered,
and how it shapes our thought.
I’ve learned many lessons well;
now glad to be often caught.
My mom now long since passed,
her sacrifices never ignored.
I really was a bratty kid,
but at least mom was never bored.
Love is; the poem too long to write.
A canvas painted in light,
blending all the colors white.
The song too high to sing.
Timeless symbology of token ring,
endless joy two will bring.
A tug of war, win less win more.
Always warm beyond the door,
in sickness there’s no better cure.
Too follow and be pursued.
Feeling comfy in the nude.
Subtle glances never misconstrued.
Sheets full – to be continued…