Author: lbstowe

Scale…You know? Measured things that relate size.
Are its mysteries only for the wise?

I hope every choice we make in life counts.
But, what if our best is just a mere ounce.

How can a wee dram affect a great sea?
Do lives so small even budge a degree?

All of history remembers so few.
Is change a debt generations accrue?

Life’s futility can fill you with doubt.
It’s almost just not worth thinking about.

I try to summon pride & search for a well to draw it from.
What people say that they see in me leaves me confused & numb.

My mirror must be a liar for I do not see it there.
I close my eyes to sense it, but I can’t feel it anywhere.

Maybe I was told too early that pride’s a dangerous thing.
Or maybe I’m too worried no one would get the songs I sing.

Chances come around & they all encourage me to engage.
That’s when mine & others’ viewpoints clash in ready war to wage.

Here’s the bottom line: I’m grateful I feel seen at all & heard.
I’m lucky that some see more than just a guy who’s good with words.

Fitting the story of a life under a limit.
A comprehensive blurb read in under a minute.

“Brevity is the soul of wit.”; said Sir Oscar Wilde.
But minutia is needed for the tales that beguiled.

World building details are how the inspired immerses.
Even a folk song requires a few storied verses.

The better the punchline, the shorter is the word count.
But sometimes a laugh-line’s just a story’s brief dismount.

One-liners are funny but so is a vast satire.
Ignore limitations; trust the walk, not the tight-wire.

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.