Author: lbstowe

Yeah, so…run ‘em up & fill ‘em in.
Everyday there’s that scoreboard within. 
 
Time chipped off from the time of our lives.
Counting along twixt our nines & fives.

Intent to beat yesterday today.
Resenting sidetracks along the way.

Thou shalt be waylaid most of the time.
Interference there in rhythm’s prime.

Go with the flow & keep score if you must.
The slower we go; the quicker we rust.

Lost in spirals of anticipation.
Weighing success or decapitation.

Really nothing so very serious.
Just worry making me delirious.

Unreal swell building before the actions.
Commonly split into extreme factions.

Loss of what I have right now on one hand.
The other, not worthy of the good planned.

I know all will dissolve when I’m in it.
My prepared terrors, each time, I forget.

Why must fags police ourselves for the comfort of the masses.
If we don’t live out loud we’ll soon be headed for the gasses.

Why can’t we all claim space to share…the dissident & the normie?
Does your faith require that you shun or, at least, deter me?

All that anybody wants is life lived free & life lived safe.
So, why does space that I take up cause a starchy collar’s chafe?

I use words to defend myself when I fear your violent hate.
Why should my small life depend on your   deterministic fate?

What is the message left then for our children to look up to…
That we should bow to majority & ostracize the few?

We are useless in pain, rage & overwhelmment.
Golden rules of life lived from under a helmet.

Envy & greed are really nobody’s color.
However, without grist & strife, all grows duller.

We lob our virtues from safe cover like grenades.
Arguing in agreement, while the ringing fades.

Life seems cruel at the bottom; surviving on mud.
Yet, most lows, mids & highs are just born there by blood.

Every lot suffers its own perceived oppression.
Most acting out dramas for trauma’s procession.

I believe it’s rare that one sets out to cause harm.
It’s just that each life’s course costs both legs & one arm.

All hail the evergreen teen, the guy always looking for laughs.
Rarely focused past right now; more comfort in pointing out gaffes.

Happy to coast on others’ need to make sure he is ok.
He is a good time had by all…until things don’t go his way.

He sighs & he tries, in consternation, to do what he can.
Fragile in ego, delicate pride, seldom a sporting man.

Not a fan of the everyman, hiding behind hipster fog.
Expecting the best & shocked at worse; a jester’s underdog.

Still, an inner child, mad & wild, preferred to toxic bully.
Hearts of gold can’t grow old; if only we saw ourselves fully.

Killing should take longer than the brandishment of a gun.
Long enough for conscience to get in the way…& have won.

Murder should be slower than lizard sparks of the mind.
Frontal lobes should fire up; so action’s not led by hind.

Harm should induce nausea; like herbicide for baser blooms.
Volume should cause pain; so temps wont boil over one home’s rooms.

I cannot be alone in thinking this may aid our lot.
The costs for hate & anger more immediate than not.

Some people are revulsed by these; they are not my concern.
It’s those who act on impulse without pauses to discern.

I lived in thrall of life before it all came crashing down.
Full of piss & vinegar, working for ambition’s crown.

My focus fell fallow, now my execution waited.
No promise of tomorrow; the future now ill-fated.

I amputated everything & pushed off everyone.
I did not know who I’d be, living well below the fun.

So near to giving up, I turned my sights instead to work.
I set out to build my life again, burning thru its murk.

How to move & how to walk…&, yes, how to beat my odds.
Within survival’s headspace, past the now one never plods.

Days became months, months became years & all began to grow.
I just had to beat yesterday & now my now’s ago.

I’ll celebrate & sacrifice; no one can touch my joy…
& Making real my thoughts has thrilled me since I was a boy.

Death prank-called my life & said, “I’m coming any day now”.
So, every day I fight to win & make it all count somehow.

My life feels like a champagne bubble headed for the top.
If not clung quiet to the side, it certainly will pop.

Every age before the current’s always been more brutal.
So, those who resent progress know all complaints are futile.

Yet moments come along that feel like ye olde chopping block.
A sense the boat you row is frail & cannot take the rock.

And though you never really know what brave acts have in store.
Some failure is a given when you shoot your shot for more.

If you’re  falling on your face, it’s still a forward motion.
So, grab your first aid kit & leap toward a hopeful notion.

Mine is a dark & funny old brain.
I liken it to a sunshined rain.

Neural asphalt steams from pelting cool.
Pressured heat’s relief from sunny rule.

They told me the devil was a man…
Beating his wife with a frying pan.

I’ve no truck with those types of fables;
Hiding ugly with cutesy labels.

Sunny rains are rare & fragile things.
Like the fancies my mind daily flings.

Now, pushing thru the fogs of routine.
A chance of moving beyond…& keen.

Can I step forward & leave one foot?
Does progress really need my input?

Dash the questions & doubtful worries.
No overthinking; progress hurries.

My brain is afire with newfound hope.
Busily mapping this newfound scope.

Experience tempers elation.
Killjoys managing expectation.

Yet, balance struck, I venture on…
Wide worlds waiting, by me, to be won.