Cold rain falls in the river, flows down to the sea, gets into the skyline, circles endlessly. Same old rain on the wind, same old pain in my soul.

Saturday, February 28, 2009

I've spent a lifetime feeling out of place, searching for my place. I've never liked my name and I've never liked my face. When I was a young boy, my father nicknamed me Beaver. It stuck. And to this day, in my hometown, no one would call me by any other name. There was a time in early adulthood, a pretty rough stretch of substance abuse, where I was trying to change; to maybe better fit in. I went to a convention, sport fishing or some such nonsense, and felt hot and swallowed by the crowd. From behind a booth, an ogre of an ass, most likely named Biff, and his buddies saw the name "Beaver" sewn on my jacket. Well they cut up pretty big and had obviously been drinking and I said nothing. Just shook my head and moved on. So many times I have wished I had climbed that counter and tore him apart. But I was too busy searching for serenity in a world full of bullshit.
I've never fit in very well though I've managed to not stand out as a loner in an act of self preservation, I suppose. But like it or not, I am what I am and whatever it is, it is not as the ruling majority.

when I'm alone and crowded,
I dream of oceans
and far away places
both near and far

Cuz I don't understand.
there's so much
I don't understand

people say apple
but they mean banana
and all the while I offer
the apple, not getting the joke

So I search for safety
in the alone
but only find the hurt of the crowd
and I dream of oceans
and far away places
both far and near
and the circle continues

a sea tho brimming with danger
makes no judgment. it just is and kills alike.
caring for the whale no more than the krill
which is not at all,
only a blind fairness

far away places are strangers
that don't lie in request.
just a stoicism that allows my being
and ignores my iniquities

people carry me away
on waves of blows, eager to judge
pointing and wagging
always knowing the better

the ocean doesn't lie
or practice demagoguery
it's waves only mean to carry
to far away places
or to death, no matter

Edward should never have come down
from the hill. Oddities grow old in their oddness
and townsfolk bold in their coldness
but how could Edward have known?

people who pat and coo, most always,
do so to their own amusement and sport.
cheer them and it's drinks all around
tell them of your pain
and they check their watches
and cover their yawn
a fickle lot for sure

they say the meek shall inherit the earth
I say not without a fight
so I dream of oceans
and far away places
where love is love
unconditional and tender
where apples are apples
and a kiss is not to placate
where a friend stays a friend
where God loves sick children
and where there's never a joke
for me to get

the loneliest place ever I've known
is lost in the crowd
the friendliest comfort on beaches bare
silent and non treacherous

So I dream about oceans
and far away places