Roads

What lies ahead,
On the road of life?
This multi-lane freeway,
Moving faster than I can take.
Which exit leads me,
To the windy road,
That takes me to the destination,
I wish to reach?
How many pot holes,
Will line the streets which I travel?
Is there a number,
To count the amount of detours,
Standing in the path,
That I will take?
So much variety,
All leading to an alternate ending.
Which one,
Will lead me,
To my deepest desire?
How do I know,
That any of them,
Even contain it?
I can only wish,
To be fortunate enough,
For luck to be on my side.
So that this never ending road of life,
Will lead me,
To the thing I long for,
More than anything else.
No matter where the road may lead,
I hope and pray,
That you will be there by my side,
There at the end.
Cause without you sitting,
In the passenger seat,
It all seems,
Like such a waste.

Images

Every time I see her face,
The memories go rushing by.
vivid images of times that have passed,
Thoughts both good and bad.
A bittersweet taste,
Fills my mouth.
My mind begins to wander,
As it relives,
The many wonderfull times,
As they rush past my eyes.
Slowly,
The thoughts start to wander,
And the smile begins to fade,
As to memories of sad times,
Have their turn,
To be relived.
Suddenly,
The brightness of the day,
Begins to falter,
Clouds seem to begin creeping,
Across the horizon.
A chill runs up your spine,
And the tears stream down your face,
As the depressing memories,
That were tucked,
In the furthest regions of the mind,
Steadily make their way,
Into the focus of your thoughts.
Your head begins to hang low,
And the very will to live,
Begins to seep away,
Out of your bones,
As the movie reel containing,
The saddest time of your life,
Continues to play,
Over and over,
Despite how hard to will,
For it to just simply,
Disappear.
But nothing seems to work.
Then moments before,
You give up all hope,
The begins to penetrate through the clouds,
The tears begin to dry,
As out of nowhere,
A feeling of comfort warms the soul,
A ghostly feeling,
Of a friendly hug,
Coming out of the shadows,
Pushes the sadness,
Back into the depths of the mind.
This begins,
The agonizingly slow,
Process of healing.
No possible way to measure,
Or even guess,
How long it will take.
Patience is the key,
Persistence is the goal.
Striving onward,
Praying,
For smooth waters ahead.

Trust

Betrayal,
Back Stab,
Deceit.
These are only,
A few things,
To describe,
The unmentionable treachery,
That is,
The misuse,
Of one of the most precious things,
We as people,
Have to give to others.
That is,
Our trust.
How should we react,
When we give a person our trust,
And they take it willingly,
Only,
To cut it up into pieces,
And abuse the gift they have been given.
Using it for selfish,
And greedy purposes.
Taking the sacred information,
Only to become two faced,
Turning around and spreading it onwards,
Sharing it with people,
Whose ears,
Were not meant to hear it.
Potentially causing a conflict,
That was never meant to take place.
But what happens,
When you decide to take the chance,
The gamble,
To put your trust in someone,
One more time?
Is there someone out there,
Who instead of betraying you,
And letting you down,
Makes the decision,
To take that special gift,
And cherish it,
Not wanting to do anything,
To jeopardize,
What they've been given.
However,
There may come a time,
When that person,
Either accidentally,
Or intentionally,
Breaks that bond.
How many chances can we give?
Is there a set number,
Of second chances,
we are allowed to give out?
Personally,
There are certain people,
I will never trust again.
And there are others,
Whom I will give as many redo's,
As it takes,
Because I care for them,
With all of my heart.
But that's just me.

Choices

Choices and consequences.
Cause and effect.
Right and wrong.
The never ending cycle,
That smothers our lives,
With pressure from our peers.
Every moment that we live,
We are making decisions,
Whether these choices,
Are the right ones,
Or the wrong ones,
Is open to interpretation.
What causes us,
To make the choices we do?
Do we do things,
For self benefit,
Or personal happiness?
Or do we make certain decisions,
For other people,
Only wanting them to be happy,
And sacrificing our own well-being.
Whether your actions,
Are based on your own motivations,
Or the hopes and dreams of another,
Being lived through us,
We choose and do what we do,
For a reason.
Now I cannot ell you,
What you should do.
But I will say this,
Whatever you decide to choose,
And those courses of action,
You act upon,
Do it,
So that you may be happy,
In the end.
Because if you aren't happy,
What is the point?
You are always in control,
Of yourself.
Use that simple truth,
To your advantage.
For you,
And you alone,
Control your actions.
We should live for ourselves,
Because it's our life.

Life

Living life,
Going through the days,
Making choices,
Adapting to changes.
What is the purpose,
Of this limited time of mortality?
The answer to this question,
Depends,
On who you decide to ask.
To some,
It is to fulfill a list of requirements,
In order to gain something,
In the life after.
To others,
It is merely,
To survive,
For as long as possible.
Because for them,
Every minute is precious.
For it may be their last.
If you were to ask,
Another group of people,
They would reply,
Saying,
The purpose of life,
Is to rise up as far as you can,
On the totem pole of gain.
To gain as profit,
As possible,
Before the inevitable,
Finally catches up with them.
However,
If you were to ask,
As simple person,
Who is completely content,
With the life he has been given,
He would tell you,
That the purpose of life,
Is to be happy.
To take those simple things,
That make you smile,
And cherish them,
As if that was the last time,
You would ever see it,
Or experience it.
Grab hold of those things,
That make you feel alive,
And hold onto them,
As if merely letting go,
Would be then end of life,
As you know it.
For life is short,
Much shorter,
Than any of us,
Would like to admit.
We must use the time we are given,
As it is not much.
Live life to the fullest,
Because you never know,
What's just around the corner.

Wounds

Wounds,
Injuries,
Scars,
What are these?
Are they merely imperfections,
Of the flesh,
Results of mistakes,
Of skin and bones
Mere memories and clouds,
Of a temporal pain and sadness.
Do these inflictions,
Even compare,
To the never fading,
Cuts and stabs,
That line our hearts and souls?
The never healing rips and tears,
Causing us to mourn and cry.
These wounds may never heal.
But,
They may also,
Never show.
We can hide them away,
Deep down inside,
Blocking the ever bleeding pores,
Of our hearts,
From the eyes of the world.
Not wanting people to see,
What is really beneath the surface.
Pretending that everything is ok,
When in fact,
You have never been cut this deep before.
Deep inside,
You secretly wish,
That someone will come along,
And actually notice,
The pool of blood,
Soaking deep into your shoes.
Concealing the hope,
That they could possibly,
In some magical way,
Make the pain go away.
Sew up the cuts,
Fill in the holes.
Whenever this person decides,
To come knocking on your door,
It won't be,
A moment too soon.

The Game

The cards are on the table,
The ball is in the air,
The game is still in session.
Its not quite over yet.
There is still time on the clock,
Time to make things right,
Although not much,
But just enough.
Because it is never too late,
To fix what was broken.
Sometimes,
A few words is all it takes.
Other times,
No amount of words,
Could possibly fix the damage,
That has been done.
But nevertheless,
Should be said.
Is there really a time,
Where it can be too late,
To try to make right,
The wrong?
Even if there is,
It never hurt,
To try.

Hearts

Some people wear their hearts on their sleeves,
Others hide theirs away,
Tucked down in the deepest,
Darkest,
Most isolated area,
So that no one,
May gain access to it.
What causes a person,
To want to keep others away,
From that most precious possession?
What is there to gain,
From denying others,
The chance to get close to you?
There is nothing but loneliness,
As a result of locking up your heart.
Alternatively,
We can open up the barricaded door,
Protection that fragile thing.
We can expose it to pain,
Put it in the way of danger.
Trust another to keep it,
Only to have them,
Toss it out of the second story window.
But,
By lowering our defenses,
Only ever so slightly,
We not only expose our hearts,
To pain,
But also to something,
Infinitely more powerful.
The experience,
Of happiness.
The power,
To complete the needed balance.
The light that drives away the dark.
The experiences,
That cause you,
To love being alive.
Causing you to be happy,
About the fact,
That you decided to get out of bed,
That morning.
A single moment in time,
Seems to make all the bad things,
That have ever happened,
Seem,
Completely meaningless.
Those moments of tears,
Disappear,
From the pool of memories,
That have accumulated,
Over the years.

My Life

They say,
That a person,
Can only live,
For a few minutes,
After their heart has stopped beating.
If that be the case,
I should not be living at this moment.
For my heart has not beat,
A single time,
Since that moment when I found,
The facade which was put into place,
To shield my eyes from the truth.
What I found out that fateful day,
Has had a greater impact,
On the emotional well-being of my soul,
Than any other single event.
The thought of future happiness,
Is now nothing but a joke.
As the very will to live,
Slowly escapes the cold cavity,
That once held what was my heart.
All that now remains,
Is a memory,
Of a time,
Where the now hollow hole,
Was filled with hopes,
And dreams,
And thoughts of happy things.
All that is left,
Is the bitter taste of truth.
The sour feeling of realization.
As the entire world seems to come to a halt.
Where you feel as if you are all alone,
In the middle of a crowd.
The agonizing feeling,
Of thinking,
That there is no longer,
Anyone who cares.
The feeling,
That no one will miss you,
If you suddenly disappeared.
At this moment in time,
There is no light at the end of the tunnel.
There is no second chance.
There is only one story to tell,
And it is sad as hell.
This,
Is the story,
Of my life.