One More

gold sunset with a dark blue dusk

One More
We say it all the time
One more smoke
One more lie
One more drink
One more time
One more and I’m done

Just one more
We never really mean it though
Always one more pill
Always one more party
Always one more race
Always one more gamble
But one more could be the end

One more
One more and your life could change
One more drink could be a hit and run
One more pill could be an overdose
One more time stealing money
One more click could be the end of a relationship
One more and lives can change

One more
Just two words
But oh can they can change your life
As this day comes to an end
Say no more

White Cloud

rain falling from gray clouds with white clouds in background
Some days I wish I was a cloud
Bright and fluffy
Or dark and brooding
It wouldn’t matter to me
The wind would guide me
Nature would dictate me
Floating above the wars and hate
Ignoring the blaming and killing
Not worrying about success
Or fitting in with the rest
Just a cloud going along
Without a care

Some days I wish I was a cloud
To form as quickly
And disappear just as fast
Leaving no mark as I pass
To see the world and its beauty
Without the darkness and evil
To see the light of day
Or beauty of the night sky

But if I was a cloud
I couldn’t have met you
To see your joy or pain
To celebrate success
Or grieve during lost
To see your smile
To see you touch lives
To hear your words
As you encouraged
Or felt your love
When I had fallen

If I was a cloud
I would never have met you
Or be inspired by you
To see myself better
To become better because of you

The Glory of the West

landscape, gold clouds, blue sky

From age to age
From day to day
There have been some
Who stood and watched
The same setting sun
From ages past
From around the world
There have been a few
Who stood upon the hill and stone
And looked out across field and tree
With a silent vigil
Have they seen the same sight
A million eyes have seen the same fire
A thousand tongues have spoken of it
Yet each is alone in their thoughts
Yet each has watched that same sun
A thousand generations back
And a thousand more to come
All have seen and all have watched
That same setting sun

Friday Thoughts: Tolkien and War

Good morning! We made it to another weekend! Unless you work on the weekend then I wish you much strength and courage.

On my commute, I have been reading Lord of the Rings. I am happy to say that in six hours worth of riding the train, I have finished The Fellowship of the Ring.

It has been many years since I last read these three books and I am disappointed in myself for this. However, the long wait is over and I am much better for it. I once again walked through the Shire, saw the beauty of Elrond’s home, and felt the terror of the Nine Riders. In the recent news of attacks in England, disappearances of children from around the city, and the poor representation of “heroes” in the world, it is good to have some wholesome things to read.

I have noticed that in the movies, no one quite puts enough weight on the numbers killed. Regardless whether the hero slew them or the villain. In DC’s Man of Steel, an entire city was destroyed but no one mentioned it. Going further back, every single Transformer movie. No one notes it. More recently, in Marvel’s Guardians of the Galaxy: Volume 2, Yondu is seen killing an entire crew of a ship and enjoying it.

And the audience laughed.

It was disturbing to hear people enjoying one man and a garbage panda kill hundreds of men. Without warning. Without mercy. Perhaps it was justice because they killed his entire crew. Perhaps it is because Yondu has a black soul*. But was it necessary? Was it needed?

In Tolkien’s story, either the characters note the number of dead. Or the narrator does. From the number of men killed in the defense of Gondor to the number of Urak-Hai slain for control of Helm’s Deep, you can see the cost of war. You can also see why the war was fought. Or why the hero had to fight.

I think that is something we are in danger of losing. That we forget just how horrible war is because of the gory movies we watch or how easy the “hero” takes to killing the enemy. Or why some battles must be fought or why some battles are not worth the fight.

But that is just me. Maybe I am a strange individual who believes in fighting but at the same time wishes to avoid it. Maybe I am strange for wanting to be like Faramir: a warrior and a scholar. But then again, these are my thoughts.

In light of this, I will leave you with this question:

If you fight all the time, are you able to know when you must fight?

*Disclaimer: when I use the word “black” I mean in relations to evil deeds.


Click-clack click-clack

Metal wheels roll across metal rails

Click-clack click-clack

The train rolls through the city

It rattles and rolls

The people sway as the train speeds

Around bends and down hills

Some stare out of dirty Windows

Their minds on work or far away

Others play on their phone

Or listen to the latest song or news

Still others lean and sleep

Click-clack click-clack

The wheels grind away

Click-clack click-clack

Horns sing and gears screech

The train passes another just like it

Filled with people of different sorts

Some are dressed to impress
Others are dressed for heavy labor

Children laugh as they go to school

Business men and women prepare

For meetings and reports

Click-clack click-clack

The train goes on

Click-clack click-clack

Humanity going about its day

The father going to his second job

The daughter on her first day

The mother returning home

The teens skipping school

The college student on her interview

Click-clack click-clack

The train carries them all

The Coffee Shop

Hot drinks

Lots of talks

Music thudding

Laughter ringing

Friends hugging

Strangers greeting

No stranger here

No outsider here

Traffic fought

Coffee bought

Bankers and teachers

Students and workers

In and out fast
Half past

The clock chimes

And the shop empties

Music still plays

And the people still talk

But now a silence descends

And the people whisper

Smiling rather than laughing

Hush tones instead of loud voices

Still the barristers call out names

Still the greetings are said

But with a quiet air

A writer works hard about an artist

While she sketches his face

A student studies

And a mother reads

The clock chimes

And in comes the rush


Sitting at the mall,
Listening to the people.
Their voices fill the air with babble like a river.
Their steps shake the ground,
tremors rising and falling with each passing person.
Here and there a voice rises above the rest
But it is soon lost among the chatter.
Thoughts and words tumble through the air,
A din of conversation that strangles the silence.
The more I listen, the louder the voices.
Yet in all this noise,
All these people,
I am alone.