Lost Thoughts

I can remember things

The order is a question

It’s  not egg vs chicken 

Far more important, maybe

Details are what debate form

Insight is hindsight somehow

If tomorrow changes are we sure?

History is a trend not reality

We look to what futures hold

We watch the hands not fingers

I will  awake wondering  if 

But I hope to remember 

Separate 


I look upon similar views

They are changed slightly

Features subdued, colors faded

Landmarks altered and worn

My eyes pick out differences

My brain ignores similarities 

I not longer part of here

I haven’t left, but will

Time will bury these things

Sands through hour glass deep

I stare like a stranger at home.

You have parted but not separated

We ghosts of the past trapped

My fishbowl seen for first time

The outside waiting for me

We all know it’s happening 

We dance around the facts

Not together but to separate music

They clash, contrasting get who we are

We are ghosts in the daylight

Pale reflection of what we were

In time we go separate ways

The road untouched will claim me

I’ll drift to places distance

My eyes will form new markers

My brain will make similarities 

Home will be home but not again
“There’s a feeling I get,

When I look to the west.

And my spirit is crying to leave here”

Stairway to Heaven Led Zeppelin 

Stick

Written as part of a challenge called six sentence stories, details are available at https://unchartedblogdotorg.wordpress.com/2016/10/26/welcome-to-six-sentence-stories-33/

“She said stick together.” I try to explain.

“They found her beat to death with an oak branch sticking out of her.” The deputy says

“I remember sticks and stones could break your bones….” my mind fits reality into the terms of real.

“Stick to the facts, sir.” His eyes burn into me.

“She disappeared and the underbrush hide her path beneath leaves and sticks.” I shake my head.

 “You have seen nothing, but still stick to nothing and I don’t understand why?” He draws his handcuffs.

The Tunnel has a Light at the End

We have an offer.  It’s not what we want.  Normal thing for home sellers, buyers never have all the money or financing they should.  But hey, if it goes through Christmas is spent together.  We have a possibility of the beginning of December to have it all be finished.

We spend 12 years getting the house were we want it.  And either we give up the desert dream or stay here and prefect the house.  I’m not staying if the desert has a place for me.  There are mountains and blue skies…  I’m stuck and selling cheaper than I should.  All home owners think the house owes them something.  I had a deal on the next home, so I must sacrifice the value I perceive.  

The Trailer

Margaret looks through her blinds.  Her neighbor has the trailer again.  His loud truck growls.  Her poor little Roxy hides under the table.  Shuddering at the noise.

She looked at her window.   The trailer had something under a blue tarp. 

“He’s a crazy!”  Margaret speaks to the nervous dog.

Roxy wags her tail.

“Let’s go for a walk.”  The words crawl from her mouth 

The trailer calls her.

Outside she sees an arm hanging out beyond the tarp.

“Oh my God… I knew it he is a killer!” Margaret walks dragging a dog behind her.

“It’s Halloween!!” A booming voice calls from the door.  A less than crazy man stares at the neighbor from hell.