Rooftops in autumn

The sun rises in a glorious spectrum of color and sanguinity analogous to the birth of a child.  There is hope in this moment that this rebirth will bring with it new possibilities and understanding.  In our youth the air is cool and light and we have all of time to decide how our day will be spent.  Without our permission these moments slip from us breath by breath.   Before we know it the mid day heat beats arduously upon our back and little has been done with our time.  Often we look to the clock as though an arbitrary time will bring us amelioration. Yet as quickly as it came the sun descends and our life is consumed by the twilight.  The  incalescent nature of the sun which was once cursed are looked upon with contempt.  Now there is no more time for all of the things we said we would do.  Our most finite commodity when squandered becomes our greatest regret. 
We have but a day.

Pressure mounting

The way a balloon inflates, the pressure mounts within.  Even at half capacity the balloon appears full yet it's ability to expand has yet to be tested.  Just when we think it can not take another hot breath, it expands once again and the pressure mounts.  It has been stretched to its fatal limits.  We force further expansion.  We push the limits for no other reason than the fact that we can.  We know that this can not go on.  We know what is going to happen but somehow we are surprised when things blow up in our face. The violent eruption startles us as if we didn't know it was imminent.  Then we are left with nothing resembling ourselves.  We are fragmented and unrepairable.

Kill your heros

How is it after all these years I still don't have my shit together?  I still don't have a single answer to even one of the salient questions which have been presented to me.  I sit alone on this brisk summer evening watching the lightning further illuminate the Denver skyline and I think what would my father do?  What would any of the individuals that I've held on high my entire life do in this situation? When approaching an impasse what does a strong man do, how does he handle himself?  
We have seen men of action time after time yet theirs was more often than not a scripted role.  A grand design developed in an authors chair.  What of real men? Where is their contribution? Can you think of one single person who has been stead fast in the face of all vicissitudes, in the midsts of true hardships?   I can think of a few but the path I've walked has been an extraordinary one.  Even still, these men who've been made out to be hero's are flesh and blood the same as you and I. They possess the same percentage of carbon molecules, the same insecurities and the same fears desires that you do.
The only real difference between you and those that you idolize  is their exposure to heartache.  Those who you have chosen to place in position of admiration have simply endured more pain than you or handled the same pain with renown grace.  In this they may be a person worth admiring, however, to make a hero of a person who's flesh  is no more or less vulnerable to assault than yours is foolish.  That person whom you've held in such a high regard is a mess, in one facet or another they lack control.  It is human nature to not have every aspect of oneself under control.  This is what partially creates our need for one another.  Just know that the way to fill the gap within yourself is not to rely on others but rather upon yourself . Be your own shinning example, be your own hero. 

Parks after midnight

Our entire lives we've been fooled by the game of baseball.  We have been led to believe that we receive just three strikes, three opportunities to achieve our intended goal.  The reality is our opportunity is inhibited only by our own willingness to endure hardship, pain and anguish.  The individual who can look beyond that immediate affliction and not allow themselves to fall victim to their own self destruction in times of discomfort will undoubtedly achieve greatness in all things.  
What separates us, what distinguishes us is free will.  If one possesses any belief in a higher power that belief must be framed in the notion that they/him/it granted you and I the ability to make our own choices, to choose whether or not divinity even exists is an argument that it does.  We get the choice, we can choose the pain that comes from trying and failing or we can seclude ourselves into the comfort of stagnation.  When we swing we may miss and with that miss comes inevitable disappointment, a sense of discouragement and even a little self doubt.  But in the simple act of swinging again these internalizations dissipate.  Even if the swing itself is unsuccessful it has shown us that we still have the ability to act, to use or free will in an attempt at deciding our own fate.  
Swing swing swing swing.... Do so with accuracy but not with concern for  failure for the greatest success occurs only when we remove the bat from our shoulder. 
In the order of things the best situation is not to achieve success at our first at bat but rather feel the disappointment of coming oh so close.  In that, our miss becomes the opposite end of the spectrum from our success.  Without ever knowing absolute failure it is difficult to appreciate the sweet taste of success. 

These Dreams We Dream

The cost of surviving is carrying on our shoulders the weight of all those that did not. The cost of not surviving is having placed that weight on our brothers shoulders.  The price of taking another person's life is meeting them each night and revisiting their final moments.  The ultimate price, however, is not in taking someone's life but rather in the inability to save one.  That is a weight that far exceeds the pressure of all the oceans.


These dreams we dream
of names we can not pronounce
and faces we can not forget
These dreams we dream
of places few have ever seen
These dreams we dream
they never leave us
These dreams we dream
we can still hear them scream
in These dreams we dream
it is the price we pay
not just on memorial day
These dreams we dream

your intention

Why when I should be working on my book am I spending time staring at that blinking cursor?  I feel like writing however I need to ramble a little first.

Complexity in simplicity, life in a breath.  Shame and regret. Words without meaning, choking stumbling on them like a crack in the sidewalk.  Ice spills over and under my skin illuminating veins, the flow slows.  Taxed and depleted hated and abandoned.  So many times we view without seeing passing by the beauty that surrounds us.  The rotation of the fan blade marks another missed opportunity; a moment encapsulated in time yet forever forgotten   Doing well to divert our attention from truth.  The space between a blink and a tear.


We are not lost we are the guiding light, the first born great hope, a splash of shade in July.  We mark the turning of a page and the beginning of an era.  Carried on our backs the procrastination's and mistakes of our forefathers we nourish their albatross refusing to deliver it's disposition upon our successors.  Indifference an abomination.  Stand tall.  Speak the truth.  Expect the utmost of yourself and those you surround yourself with and failure will never find you.