In years past, I travelled for work.
At that time in life, it was a small chore,
To leave home Monday morning and go afore.
Sometime by plane, but mostly by car.
Being the newest to the job, I got the oldest car.
It ran OK but leaked oil and smoked a bit.
When at a light, it was a sobering scene.
The smoke all around, the color of cream.
Smells from the engine would run amok.
You could smell me coming for almost a block.
I talked to my boss on many a day.
He told me to park on the lawn and I would
Not have any crab grass. A joker he was.
Complaining a little, was all I could do.
Then I received news of a car that was new.
Drove to Seattle, as quick as I could,
And a new Chevy Bel Air, I quite understood.
Those were the days of good cheer
And good friends. Of small happenings
As the love did long endear.

This island of discontent,
surrounded by a sea of loneliness,
was created, in my mind.
I am the victim,
creating my own sorrow,
ignoring those who offer
help and prayers.

Golden skin rippling
like the waters of the Nile.
Snowy, white teeth, reflecting
threads of light from your smile.
Milk chocolate eyes, blinding,
those who dare to pause.
Lilting laughter, falling
gently about my ears
for no reason. Just because

When you leave this place
at the end of your day,
will you stroll slowly
or run quickly to say,
"Goodbye to all,
that I know well;
I'm on a pathway,
going straight to Hell."