First Place
Never Worried Too Much About The Spelling
I have never had a first place ribbon for anything. I have never won a competition nor achieved any stature for much of anything. I can not think of anything that would really distinguish myself from the crowd. Yet here I sit, and I know that if I were in a crowd that I would be known, at least by someone. I have accomplished nothing, I have rose to no occassions, I have lived an uneventful life, where does this recognition come from?
A long time ago in a place I barely remember, there was something for me to hold on to. Now all that is gone, I am an ordinary man in an ordinary world, wondering how could it all have slipped away.
There just out of sight in the, I have no idea where this was headed.
Goodbye my friends, I love you all.
Jibberish, babbling blind man.
From where do you hail?
To where do you wander?
How does it feel?
It’s been such a long, long time
In the mist of Avalon,
There is a girl I once knew.
She’s forgotten me.
Of this I am sure.
I remember the games I used to play, any little crack was a chasm, and I the Titan who ruled the world. A lord of Time and Space, I would spend countless hours staring up at the sky, wondering why I could go to Pluto or Mars. I had a telescope once, some hand-me-down from my older brother, but that was fine. I used to look through it at the moon, and disstant constilations, wishing I was on a rocket ship to anywhere but here. I used to dream of riding away on that ship into the cosmos, far into the universe to somewhere else. Any where else but here.
I came to travel some, and realized however many thousand or million miles you roam, there’s no place you can really call home.
We are born into this country of the “Free”, but we are never free from the loss of something only few can hold onto. We are all from somewhere else. Not even the “Native Americans” can really claim to be from here, because somewhere, out there, someone brought us here. Yea I agree with evolution for the most part, but there seems to be some holes in the theory. Nothing seems to account for the human wander lust, nor the innate desire to be not here, but out there. If we were really from this lowly planet, we would not care about the “out there”, being already afraid of anything and everything that is here. We would be perfectly content to live in our little flat land, if there wasn’t this nagging “sense” that we need to get back home, out there somewhere.
I can’t seem to reach them, or even understand them, even though I was very much like them. I never faught though, there never was anything worth fighting for. Lost a few things maybe that I might have like to keep, but in the end I feel that I kept the one thing they couldn’t steal, my sanity. My piece of mind, kept quiet in the hollow of my mind. Somewhere, out there, “they” that are “them”, know they haven’t made a difference.
When faced with myself, in a smaller and less controlled person, I find myself wishing I could find something left inside that would reach out and understand. As I watch him grow, I know that this is a different world, one with less compassion, one that cannot reach little men like him. I lie there in my bed at night, listen to the sounds of silence, and often wonder, perhaps tomarrow I will find a way through. Then the daylight breaks, I arise with the sun, and wonder, will this be the day when something begins to make sence?
I’m just a poor boy, I have no family, caught in a landslide, no escape from reality.
The words struck me like a cardiac arrest, that is who I am, and I slipped into that mold. I began to drink then, and my age made me no difference, just drank because I refused to accept that which I knew was not me. Tried so hard to deny the truth, for so long now, I am not sure I knew what was right and what was wrong.
I have never had a first place ribbon for anything. I have never won a competition nor achieved any stature for much of anything. I can not think of anything that would really distinguish myself from the crowd. Yet here I sit, and I know that if I were in a crowd that I would be known, at least by someone. I have accomplished nothing, I have rose to no occassions, I have lived an uneventful life, where does this recognition come from?
A long time ago in a place I barely remember, there was something for me to hold on to. Now all that is gone, I am an ordinary man in an ordinary world, wondering how could it all have slipped away.
There just out of sight in the, I have no idea where this was headed.
Goodbye my friends, I love you all.
Jibberish, babbling blind man.
From where do you hail?
To where do you wander?
How does it feel?
It’s been such a long, long time
In the mist of Avalon,
There is a girl I once knew.
She’s forgotten me.
Of this I am sure.
I remember the games I used to play, any little crack was a chasm, and I the Titan who ruled the world. A lord of Time and Space, I would spend countless hours staring up at the sky, wondering why I could go to Pluto or Mars. I had a telescope once, some hand-me-down from my older brother, but that was fine. I used to look through it at the moon, and disstant constilations, wishing I was on a rocket ship to anywhere but here. I used to dream of riding away on that ship into the cosmos, far into the universe to somewhere else. Any where else but here.
I came to travel some, and realized however many thousand or million miles you roam, there’s no place you can really call home.
We are born into this country of the “Free”, but we are never free from the loss of something only few can hold onto. We are all from somewhere else. Not even the “Native Americans” can really claim to be from here, because somewhere, out there, someone brought us here. Yea I agree with evolution for the most part, but there seems to be some holes in the theory. Nothing seems to account for the human wander lust, nor the innate desire to be not here, but out there. If we were really from this lowly planet, we would not care about the “out there”, being already afraid of anything and everything that is here. We would be perfectly content to live in our little flat land, if there wasn’t this nagging “sense” that we need to get back home, out there somewhere.
I can’t seem to reach them, or even understand them, even though I was very much like them. I never faught though, there never was anything worth fighting for. Lost a few things maybe that I might have like to keep, but in the end I feel that I kept the one thing they couldn’t steal, my sanity. My piece of mind, kept quiet in the hollow of my mind. Somewhere, out there, “they” that are “them”, know they haven’t made a difference.
When faced with myself, in a smaller and less controlled person, I find myself wishing I could find something left inside that would reach out and understand. As I watch him grow, I know that this is a different world, one with less compassion, one that cannot reach little men like him. I lie there in my bed at night, listen to the sounds of silence, and often wonder, perhaps tomarrow I will find a way through. Then the daylight breaks, I arise with the sun, and wonder, will this be the day when something begins to make sence?
I’m just a poor boy, I have no family, caught in a landslide, no escape from reality.
The words struck me like a cardiac arrest, that is who I am, and I slipped into that mold. I began to drink then, and my age made me no difference, just drank because I refused to accept that which I knew was not me. Tried so hard to deny the truth, for so long now, I am not sure I knew what was right and what was wrong.
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