All your life all you ever wanted was
A young Bob Dylan;
A rebel child, beautiful, sired from
A fractured home, formed so
That his wandering heart
Was itself his own. And he would
Take you deep down into the truths,
And sing on banks of gentle waters,
Ignite the spirit within you,
And you would wander too,
For all your life that's what you'd do.

And you might settle for something
Close, might lay your hand inside
A rough palm, remember a psalm,
And decorate your room with the
Fragments of all you once knew.
You'd hear the words wailing inside
A speaker, and wonder of that
Longing voice, and when he chose
To make the choice,
To choose to filter the whole of life,
And think about it later.

Don't care about the outside world.
This carnal fever, this thing that we do
When we're together...
Play on time, and words we love.
To throw them all about in the mood
We trust, I feel, you feel, we embrace
The electric fever of persistence.
Something stormy is going to happen
Tonight;  I can feel the air thinning,
Like the space between you and I,
Evaporate in a cloud of smoke and
Clinking bottles, while Leroy sings
A sad country ballad in the background.
Sing to me, sweet siren. Christen this
Night of active blues beautiful.
I am wilted flower, I am desert rain
Inside you now. I am lost in this
Collection of pavement without you.

What is the meaning to one's life?

That is the question. The question of all questions. Some tumble through without giving it a thought. Some find it in the aftermath of many years unfolded, sitting in a chair, watching a sunset settle. Money brings me little comfort. I imagine what it would be like to come into great sums of the stuff. I would buy this or that, visit this or that place, but I would end up right here where I am. So money won't fix it. Some find it in God. I admire to the utmost those people, but I don't think I fall in with their kind. Some find it in helping others. Maybe that's my path. I'll admit I haven't been very active in that department. Some find it in art. That's where I want it to be. It would be easy for me to sink into some music and fall freely towards the rhythm and pulse, the melodic drip by drip of ecstasy. This culture is cruel to music though. Everything is changing and fleeting to fast. Doesn't make the endeavor all together worthless, just a harder fight. I grow older every day. And now, being home, things like marriage and children and that other bit of life that everyone ascertains as the next logical step arrive at the doorstep in my mind. I feel and fear for it, for some reason. Is it because I'm afraid I might fail? Possibly. Is it because it would eliminate any last glint of a chance that I might have to find my meaning before I can teach it to others? Probably. Fatherhood is among many other things a personal tour guide through first experiences. You witness every one of them and hope you can react to each one with the right calculation, so that when your child grows older he or she will walk the world with grace, bravery, a steady mind and a fearless, open heart. These are all traits I am lacking. I'm currently afraid of the world. Afraid of what it will do to me if I venture out into it again. But it's also like a drug I can't kick. The highs are so very high, but the lows nearly kill. My grace is unsteady. My heart is severely bruised and my mind is riddled with so many questions, the chief one being, "what is the meaning of my life?" It's not an easy question. Try asking yourself once and a while. I would love to hear your answer. It wouldn't help but it would be nice to know someone who has seen journey's walking path. I'm not going to be guided by fear, and I'm not going to be blindly running away from this quandary. I must be still. I must meditate on this and these thoughts long and with clear-minded focus, and hope for the answer. Let the painful process begin.

One day, how I wonder,
Will I ever get it right?
So many forces against a rally
Of Time's cadence, and where do I
Find the time to harvest the grain
Of My own mind?
Will it bear something of value,
Or will I keep starving the crop
To grow lean and resilient against
The elements of this life's offerings?
Oh, but time grows me older.
I feel it by minutes, days instead of
Years of overlapping graceful trials.
If there is such a thing as dying in
The living, than I can only hope to
Be reborn in a short while.
Under the moon I feel my wake
Pass to a close of lonely thought,
Feeling not quite right spending
All my hours lost and in these fears.
To change, to break the cocoon is
One of the hardest things under
Drenched stars, and know you're
In the darkness. Spend enough time
With squinted eyes and the light
Frightens you back. Weak and weary,
Somehow this cannot last.

Too many voices are swimming inside my head,
And the choices, changes, spaces
Leave me feeling dizzy dread.
Panicked by a life that feels it's being
Plucked for me already.
Troubled by a foundation shaken
Underneath my feet.
So I'm falling all the time,
Falling through my time,
Losing every notion I once had in mind.
Where do I go from here?