I am just sitting here, thinking, listening to Willie and Billy Joe Shavers and maybe some old Charlie Daniel's Band and I am thinking.
Woods and water, old dogs and favorite shotguns.
Time on the water, on the Chesapeake, the magical Bay.
Snake hunting, trout fishing, beware of the Snapping Turtles deep in the swimming hole. "That's My Job" by Conway Twitty and tears of what is inevitable.
It is a sad state when the closest neighbor is way too close, not supposed to be this way. Build it up? It will all get torn down.
Look right in front of you and see the future.
but the brilliant ones, the all knowing, see beyond the first look.
Your ego will die with you, your false self esteem means nothing because YOU mean nothing.
Leave it all in puddles on the floor. Leave it all above it all.
Delineate freely the good and the bad, separate only the Uberman and the Superficial.
They will soon go. If the great scroll is left with us telling of the history of it all, it will be written of all of the Great Ones, the one's whose potential has been reached in intellect and physical power.
Emptiness is no literature , no art, no Hemingway.
Fulfillment is the fight , the gun, the kiss, the knowledge, the history, the great authors and scientists, the end of the nights, all of the lonely nights, with the curtains flapping , bringing in all of the Eastern Shore breeze, talking to you and your soul and talking to you about the way that all is meant to be.
