Poetry

Stronger than you know You hold doubt without reason I believe you can

It was a melancholy pit, Of wonders and wit, Full of people looking for more... As I sauntered in, I smelled stale sweat and sin, And took a stool not far from the door.

Then her eyes locked with mine, Frozen in space and time, As the droplets of foam hit the floor. I watched her watching me, I think both of us could see, All the people that neither of us cared for.

In this melancholy pit, of wonders and wit, full of people looking for more There were lawyers and bankers, Workers and wankers, People of all walks of life and more...

Some duplicitous in nature, Some defying nomenclature, Singing songs of misinformed lore. Some attached to a screen, Some just dying to be seen, Some befuddled and heading for the door.

As our eyes locked again, Very little was said, I think she knew I had been her before.

In a melancholy pit, Of wonders and wit, Full of people looking for more. We found solace in each other, A similarity in our druthers, Too many missed opportunities to account for.

"I am a dancer," she said, As her face turned a bit red, With a body most women would have to pay for. "I am a writer," I said My soul rising from the dead, Nervously trying my best not to bore...

We found laughter and shared stories, Of adventures and past glories, And the places we'd both been before. I think we both realized, As we looked into each other's eyes, That maybe we both, could maybe still be more.

Than being stuck, in a melancholy pit, Of wonders and wit, Full of people looking for more... Serendipity was at play, As we passed each other's way, And found a way to pick each other off the floor. No numbers were exchanged, No schedules rearranged, Just two people with much more in store.

I will always be grateful, For fate being fateful, And making me walk through the door... To a melancholy pit, Full of wonders and wit, And two people that might have found more...

There is a strange melancholy I feel today, watching the wispy wind blow through fields of corn.

I am getting older now; it's a place I never thought I would make it to, let alone thrive as I am.

But I'm lonely today

The metaphor of the corn: its life cycle, rebirth, growth, and eventual harvest.

Dancing in the wind, oblivious to the mess we have created.

It seems to be finding an incredibly simple yet deep symbolism in me today.

Wondering if the wind will show me the way, and how many cycles I have left.

It feels like that dance is telling me to keep going even if it's only for today, and that maybe, if luck continues to befall me, I'll get to stay for many cycles to come.

Yet still I wonder when this life will take me, when my harvest will come to pass, and where I will sprout next.

I need to find a way to dance more in the wind, remember less of where I've been and focus more on where I'm going.

Even on the days when I feel lonely.

Maybe it's not melancholy after all; maybe it's just a man who's risen after a fall from grace, only to find himself yearning for the freedom to dance like the corn in the wind.