I remember the stones I have overturned.
I have kicked them aside,
And often strung them tightly on my back and carried them up to the tops of mountains I have climbed.
I attempt to weep for lack of romance,
And the paths of strife I have crossed.
Lost loves, broken dreams, and a kiss from those lying lips of a stranger I never will meet again.
I may have read too much.
I may think too much.
What else is there?
To my past I never deny.
I cannot fit in with vague discussion of what the next bar or night of my life may bring.
I cannot slow down enough today to contemplate all the breaks in the trail side trees.
I am no longer scared of my days to be.
I no longer fear the reflection staring back at me.
The normal tax paying patriot tells me to be prepared.
Long ago I suffered,
And today I write of knowledge and thoughts of what should have been taught in my school days.
wisdom is lost and replaced by complacent lazy eyes.
Rest for the weary is a fable and a myth I must still believe.
Sisyphus and me.
He rolls his boulder up the hill for the Worldly troubles untold.
I will just sit at the top for a minute more,
And gaze upon society far down below.