Hef Dish It

Sometimes it's within. Other times without.
Either way, I win. And always with a shout.
To sing and play and grin. To take a different route.
That's how I begin. That's what it's all about.


My mind's knuckles bleeding, from every blow and parry
Momentum's underwhelming, the wandering is scary


Your potential is the rain, the stars are your lot
That was their refrain, that is what they taught
So I began to wait, and sit there full of smiles
To slowly lose my gait, and fall behind by miles


I wander now...



You know what?  This spontaneous poetry is crap.  I'd say it's probably rare that any of it will ever be good from my "pen."  And I suppose I believe that's true from anyone else, too.  Even Dr. Seuss slaved away at his works.

Anyway, I suppose one hears poetry's rap once in a while and must oblige.  But opening the door does not always guarantee pleasant conversation.  More often than not, it seems, poetry enters at the door and soon exits out the window.  Probably while you softly closed your eyes to imagine a better line.

I guess it's only appropriate that I end up wandering.