parked in

the door closes in my brief moment of making “it” right. left yet again in my introverted insecurities i fail to meet my own or anybodies expectation.

i get so mad at drivers who feel its their duty to direct traffic at stop signs. i honk in madness. then i realize my phone is missing. call my phone i ask, where was i last. o hasten to the scene . at the counter it was found some one picked it of the road and walked it in. o it could have been. so much worse.

sleep comes as it does now with a shiver and and wish. but i close the door. why am i me? cant i see. fire place fire in the morning flashes warmth, aaahh.

100 pushups blood flowing. walk to bus a simple breeze.

dogs growl, what ?

is this my emotion journal? are there those that really wonder at the time?  in drive bring it to the road ahead, the heart spirit my come latter.

warrior poet? na just a punk in grey



Perennial plant propogator for Creekhill nursery. Over 40 years of experience with lots of plants from foliage, cut flowers, seasonal potted plants, annuals and perennials. A plant geek and nerd, i am

Tagged with: , , ,
Posted in bus commute, depression, journal, life over 50, old age, random thought, Warrior Poet
One comment on “parked in
  1. Peggy Griffin says:

    You are precious in the sight of God. He rejoices over you with singing, my friend.

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