Drink a few too many beers,
writing becomes haphazard, drunk, staggering, to manage the words, the story. Mondays can seem like a treadmill workout,
a challenge to begin, lacking reward, left craving a bowl of chocolate ice cream. Never on a pirate vessel
has a lavish and gaudy man stepped aboard offering peace written to paper. A king, soon to be, knocked flat on his ass, stripped of his gold rings and teeth by a ruthless, blacklisted captain laughing in the face of a weak monarchy. Excuse me for my absence,
my retreat to peace. I need a break, not from you, From the busy, the rat race. Excuse me, it’s time for me, my retreat to my soul. I need a break, not from life, From all of life, except me. Excuse me, I need to focus, my retreat to clarity. I need a time out, a breather, From the clutter, the decisions. Excuse me, I’m not leaving, my journey home begins. I hope I’ve had enough
to forget, to ignore, to pass out. Last call! Here’s my chance, to be certain, to finish one more drink. No more for you. Come on! You made last call. I’ll call you a cab. Caution,
Step delicately into the path of love, Understanding that your heart can break, Your feelings may be hurt, And, you risk emptiness. Be advised, Love will catch you off guard. It’ll embrace your heart with warmth, Run through your veins and cloud your mind, Leading you to act giddy. You’ve been warned. Love is a delicate adventure Along a rocky road, on the edge of a cliff, An adrenaline rush into a void that exists Until that fraction of a second when you lose control. The defense rests,
Confident, Knowing the guilty, Their client, Sits, awaiting the jury’s verdict. Not guilty. Another criminal free. The pressure mounts
as my breath draws short, a heavy weight on my chest, and a ringing in my ears as darkness overtakes light, my vision fades, I panic. What’s happening? My fingers tingle unable to grip, unable to hold. My skin beads, a sweaty brow, clammy hands, and a drenched shirt. The room is warped, contracting as I freeze, unable to get to my feet. I begin to fear that I’m dying, buried alive, helpless. To gain perspective,
to clear my mind, I hide in plain sight on a park bench, in a tangled forest. Salt air streams, arousing my senses, a scene develops with a cast of nature’s characters going about their business. The food chain before my eyes oblivious to, or ignoring my presence among, A non-threat. A hide out, a sanctuary, a resource, a library, my hide out. |
Robert StanhopeWriter and photographer. Archives
July 2024
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