sketches of people who may be dead

hook's

i yet again have found my way back here.

stuck again.

wondering why i was plopped down onto this world.

thrown into this life.

when you are young the answers come easily, if the questions are even ever muttered.

the answers are either handed to you or seemingly soon forgotten.

they say it's not normal to have thoughts and questions and intrigues at such a young age.

they try and distract you with colorful toys and abrasively loud games and uninspired animated films and t.v. shows.

all this because they have no answer for you.

because they can't stomach the questions themselves.

they extend a hand and attempt to idly guide you down a proper path.

the paths they chose, the roads they took.

the roads home that they know to be safe.

where the grass is folded down and over itself and that familiar hardened terra stares blankly at the sky.

the easy way through the meadow.

those oversized hands locked around yours to keep you safe.

blindly leading you through.

never stopping to stare at the rolling hills of the meadow.

the galaxy of flowers sprouting far from the pathway, all placed here for some unseen reason.

you shuffle those tiny feet, kicking at rocks and loose gravel.

if you slow or loose pace they jerk your arm and tell you to "keep up!" and "stop day dreaming!"

never a moment to spare.

to stop and think.

forward.

on and on.

staring down at that path beaten down by an uncountable number of feet, much to similar to your own.

don't break pace you're day dreaming again.

faster now.

the breeze swirling through untamed hair.

faster now.

stop doddling!

the path becoming a brown streaking blur.

faster now.

those flowers seem miles from here.

the path splits and you've lost a grip on their oversized hand.

they go left.

and you, you go right.

and all you see now is the path laid out before you.

never ending.

just a brown blurry river flowing through a open endless field.

faster now.

you can not loose pace.

the flowers are all but gone, but you can no longer see them.

just a brown line and folded over grass.

faster now.

there is no time to stop and daydream now.

faster now.

get your head out of the clouds!

their words spilling out of your mouth.

their thoughts filling your head.

faster now!

no time for lollygagging!

faster now!

no time for anything.

all you see is that beaten and worn ground blurring past your feet.

no time to look side to side and see those flowers and rolling hills.

no time to stop and watch birds glide through that endless blue sky.

just a brown and endless river of tan earth staring blankly at that endless blue sky.

just that beaten down path and bent over grass staring back at those endless starry nights.

just that worn down strip of earth with the best view of that open sapphire sky.

that sky which is only a distant memory to you.

just that path and your shuffling feet.

stop daydreaming.

father time

somedays i wonder what's going to happen to you when it's all said and done.

when that body of yours is all used up and you can no longer fend for yourself.

will you come to me?

will you show up on my doorstep and extend a withered olive branch.

and stare at me with empty glassy eyes and recite your plea bargain that you skillfully plotted and rehearsed a hundred times over.

"i have no one else to turn to."

and

"i thought about you everyday."

and

"i wanted to call but a day would pass into a week.

into a month.

into a year.

and i felt too guilty to contact you at all"

and of course the occasional

"i love you"

thrown in for effect and to weaken the knees.

past full grown, past your prime, withering away before me, still nothing but a child.

grasping out for a tit to suckle and restore your youth.

glossy eyed and at my front door.

and i wonder...

will i care?

and i think about your funeral.

sitting in cold stale air.

people scattered amongst pews, like flakes of dust glinting in the rays of sun.

watching family cry and mourn you lost mortal soul.

what's left of you crammed into a wooden box, on display for all to see.

and i wonder...

will i care?

will i shed a single tear for you?

or will it be a repeat of that day on my doorstep.

when i decided to step back and swing that huge wooden door shut.

blocking out those glossy eyes.

clasping that brass door knob in my trembling hand.

that was my final good bye.

now i stare down at your closed eyelids and paled skin.

my hand is not trembling.

my eyes are not glossy.

you are just a man crammed into a well crafted wooden box to me.

i don't know you.

and i said my last good-bye on a doorstep a long time ago.