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Musings     



Time and again I play this game,
trying to play god perhaps, for me,
destroying and remaking the shell as I see fit...

Or should I call myself the destroyer?
Did my yesterday had more meaning 
than my today does?

Is the blood on the blade sweeter,
or is the sweat on my brow?

In dusting the rust off my blade,
has the edge taken the toll?

Certainly, I have grown,
a fine man by all means

But the child,
the child would have climbed mountains,
even knowing the fall.

And yet I sit here seasoned and fit,
with reason at my side,
has the crazy taken a hit?

From the crib to the soil,
and now soaring high,

has this flight taken away the land,
in lieu of the sky...? 






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