Mountain Valley on Pine Street

My life like a brew pub
It seems I come and go
get drunk sometimes
and throw some people out.
I dislike it when people
sleep on me,
and I never quite feel at home
that I can't relax
because I don't intend to stay long
or am too drunk to know
from the intoxicated pails
being served in mugs.

The intoxicating pales
that are sometimes stuck
in their fermentation of bold ideas.
I get on a task, and then it just lapses,
it sits around being unworked,
unthought, unsought, and ultimately unwanted.
Perhaps I've celebrated one too many unbirthdays,
doesn't it sound?
Perhaps I'm the one stuck, you might ask.
Suppose I am and that I'm not.
Likened I suppose to having both pain and potential.
I'm both, and so much more.
Stuck in my habits, but struggle to have habits
and so the stucknicity get banished with a little air,
some food, and time to recognize I need to get a move on
chores and things that have been waiting
like the sugar that awaits the yeast
for me to decant futures
into new bottles of possibility
For tomorrow awaits with friends,
and possibly Love
and hopefully you.

And so in that brew pub
lives get explored,
moments get forgotten,
and the floor gets mopped occasionally...
but through it all
time is shared by people
whom need to know they aren't alone.

Euluogy

In the midst of winter
cold wind freezes the raindrops of yesteryear
so that when I cry, chimes
ring out loud and long
as dropping glass
upon the street I live on

Where did yesterday go to
when will tomorrow ever come
But I remember thinking these same thoughts
in yesterday
in tomorrow

So I raise my glass to you, and say
"make this your tomorrow,
make your day.. today."
For it is yesterday that will never come,
and lives are too short to chase after eternities.

Today is my birthday, a month from now
tomorrow I count my age, 38.
The hours count down till my death,
meanwhile I'll write another page.

And so the story continues
lives of another life
I may see you
between space and time

For we do not die as much as cry anew
we are not erased as much as forgotten
And in the places of time without space
We all may patiently wait and meditate upon grace given
without adieu