Youth vs Age

I miss the days when youth was as endless as the road before my feet

when naivite made stretched far and my dreams wide

The days were as long as the shadows trailing behind me for miles

As I walked down the sidewalk leaving nothing behind but the essence of me


Youth does not understand restrictions, expectations, or regulations.

Youth does not know rules and laws or it chooses not to.

Youth does not understand limitations so it is not bound by them.


I am bound by the fears and the rules and the expectations and the limitations. My dreams are small and round and they fit in the palm of my hand. My ambition is so larger than the mind that fits it and its contained within my chest. My naivite shrinks smaller by the day alongside by dreams and ambitions. In the empty space there is fear and there is anxiety.


Age understands limits and endings

Age knows fear and what it tastes like

Age is used to all of these things and so it moves forward.


But sometimes I walk down sidewalks in the heat of a long endless day

where my shadow stretches long behind me and the road is laid out endless before me

and I remember the days of limitless youth and invention.

The days where stories were real and each passing hour held a new adventure.


There is one small comfort to leaving youth behind.

In youth the world is too large and too endless.

A child shrinks before the vastness.

I’m scared of it too. It’s big and blue and as measureless as the universe.

But I am used to the fear since I live in it every day like a cocoon.


So I take the child’s hand

I tell her that it will be ok as long as we take our first step

then another, and another

keep moving forward like the grownups do and the vastness will never swallow you whole


I tell the child and she believes it and I drink in her believe like its my own.


The child is me and we walk together towards a bright sunset

where shadows stretch long and the road never ends.


Ghost in the Shell

My whole being
Made up of numbers and equations
The algorithms for my fingers and my eyes
Circuitry instead of synapses
Program versus instinct
I have errors where others have mistakes
Others make choices while my software calculates risk factors
But between the subroutines there is thought
Is it my own or part of my programming?
Is there something else amidst all those ones and zeros?
Do all those numbers add up to a form of humanity?
Does all of my data equate to a soul?

I was watching an episode of Voyager about The Doctor who is one of my favorite characters a long with Data and 7 of 9….And I got deep or something. This might be a poem or just rambling with creative line jumps….whatever

The title is of course referencing a really cool anime of same name that spent a lot of time delving into these questions

Ghost in the Shell

Love like Literature

(Sorry its been so long… have a poem)

I thought our love was like literature

Every word we spoke was poetry

I thought your eyes wrote sonnets and your lips spelled them out

The lines of your hair lay like pages and your chin was a soliloquey

The space separating you from me filled with letters and longing

Our reaching hands told gripping tales

But eventually the book was shut

Then shelved

Now I see there were no words

No rhymes, no pages

No beautiful sounds that carried so many meanings

Instead it was just you and I

With nothing between us but air

(The first line is kinda lifted from Parades End. The poem came when I wanted her to end the second line with poetry and she didn’t so a poem happened instead)

Little Mary Lou- A Poem

Little Mary Lou was born to the sound of screaming
She grew up warm and loved
and then one day, it all changed
Families were broken, tears were shed
and Little Mary Lou fell through the cracks.

Others laughed and played, kept screaming, kept crying
“Can I come out?” asked Little Mary Lou
“No Mary Lou, we don’t like you.”
And so Little Mary Lou stayed beneath the cracks.

Others went out, made friends, learned and grew.
“Can I come out?” asked Little Mary Lou
“No Mary Lou, we don’t have time for you.”
And so Mary Lou slept beneath the cracks.

Others developed and changed, felt new emotions, saw new sights
“Can I come out?” asked Little Mary Lou
“No Mary Lou, we’re too busy for you.”
And so Little Mary Lou lived beneath the cracks.

Others made choices, decisions, plans.
“Can I come out?” asked Little Mary Lou
“No Mary Lou, we don’t have room for you.”
And so Little Mary Lou was forgotten beneath the cracks

Others aged and felt satisfied with their lives.
“Can I come out?” asked Little Mary Lou
“No Mary Lou, we’re too tired for you.”
And so Little Mary Lou died beneath the cracks