My mind feels like a drought --
a conscious lack of thought about the harvest,
it's been ignored,
untouched,
unquestioned,
and "unburdened".

But it still remains a nostalgic sight to those who pass by and see its brown grass,
its veiny leaves,
its weeds in the concrete --
I walk quietly along with music in my headphones, wondering if it's loud enough to drown the guilt of my self-induced disparity and my disinterest in the sustenance I need to be more than just a warm seat in the room,
but rather a warm blanket to the homeless.

All I know is that the next page is blank,
and that a blank page is still opportunity.

"Back In The Day, Yeah, when men did a little work, but
a lot of play.
Meetings at the saloon, and many times drinking
til noon.
So many pats on the back from strangers they cared
nothing about.
Just the company at a card table, or playing
craps in the back.
Yeah. Back In The Day is something today that
they cheer about.
Something though they all left out.
Their Ladies kept at home.
Probably dancing with the
kitchen broom.
Hardly ever spoken to, only when they jumped
after being told what to do.
Cleaning, and cooking. Making sure the children
were all cared for, cleaned, and dressed.
Making sure the Mother in them gave them their
best.
No respect until one day they took a stand.
They fought  back against man.
They've come a long way to show the world that
they can.
So many say. "It's a man's world."
I say. "Look at the shape it's in."
Seems we  left it impearled."

If you could just recognize
That I still exist,
Then I could make it through the day
I little less of a mess.
I won't let you destroy me
With perpetual distance
I'm a magician, in me
There's hidden genius.
It saddens me to believe
That the most beautiful thing
To come of our meeting
Are the words I sing.
Fallen from heaven
Still my dream remains.
To step upon my alter,
Forever The Fool
With you beside me, a Queen.