I remember when I was a child.
My parents would tell me tales.
Of men dealing with demons.
In the crossroads right out of town.

And I remember quietly.
I had walked down that path too.
Not for money, talent, or fame.
I wanted to know what happiness was like.

And I never knew if I got my wish.
It always felt like things went south.
From within the abandoned crosswalks.
I could feel only sad eyes staring me down.

I felt the whispers and warnings.
Every foggy afternoon.
When I'd wish for the man to supposedly appear.
Just for a simple request.

"I only want to be happy and loved."
It seemed to echo into the neverending winter.
But I waited anyway.
I had barely any warmth to spare.

But nothing came and so I left.
And I felt the pity trail behind my back.
As I walked down the path.
That I decided to stroll down.

And my life continued to go down hill.
I am no longer so young.
I have become accustomed to this world.
To all its cruel games.

I have been broken and shattered
Over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over....I have forgetten.
I am tired.

So I came back to the crossroads.
No more warmth left in my body.
I did not come with a wish this time.
Only seeking a question.

"Why did you not grant my wish?"
And I waited again by the trails.
For anybody to appear now.
Anybody who could give me answers.

"What did I do wrong?"
The trees looked at me with misery.
The clouds gave me it's soft tears.
The mist hugged me as tightly as it could.

And from within the forest.
I could hear it's voice at last.
"You did nothing wrong."
I am shattering by the seams.

"I gave you what you asked for."
Then why am I so unhappy.
"Because happiness never lasts."
Am I always going to feel hopeless?

"No."
Then what am I meant to do?
"Nothing."
I don't understand.

"Because happiness will never mean anything without the struggle."

But I am shattered now, practically dust.
"But a phoenix is also reborn from it's ashes."
I no longer carry anymore warmth.
"But a fire can always be rekindled."

Is that all my life will be worth for?
"Life is always a struggle, it is survival."
But it is not what I asked for.
"No one chooses to have it willingly."

Am I meant to live on?
"Certainly you are."
Why? Why am I meant to be here.
"Because you want to."

What If I don't want to be here anymore.
"You have meaning you always will."
I don't understand.
"Your struggle and success to survive is enough to show for it."

And I could see the soot on my feet gather.
That was when the howling stopped.
I stood there still with no answers.
As the sun began to rise.

But I had a gut feeling I would not return to the crossroads again.

-Rain

Hello death,

I am not afraid of you,
Many are
But I see through you

The facade of what life beyond death truly is
How can anyone know?

False prophets
The drinking of fine wines

I wonder what’s true
And I wonder what is lies

I was looking at shoes, as I was two and a half years ago
Off to mark a milestone, as I am now,
And somehow, as before, the shop owner becomes my advisor,
Sagely dispenses wisdom, asks sage questions, a sagesse that I
Do not know, though I feel older than the hills - the lies for
A true veteran to realise, though I will never be older, we can't deny
Than I am now, yet also never younger, in this moment.
It is easy for one that has seen many to guess the torment
Of a young soul - My life is decided in my teens, and I stick with it -
Or not, as they keep telling me - the door isn't closed - I am young;
It doesn't feel that way - it isn't long I was a babe, it isn't long
I have to live, I lie to myself, savouring little and nothing
Except the wine that dulls me further; It doesn't fit;
Nothing fits, into the time-frame I have constructed from something,
A rate, that isn't constant - the change in the perception of time:
There was a time that hours were days, and now days are hours;
And one day, they will be seconds, and soon will years.
It's all too fast, even when I complain it is too slow; where's the rhyme
And reason and rhythm to all of this? I was conceived; the die was cast;
I'm not going somewhere slowly: I'm going nowhere, fast.

When a soldier marches, where does his focus go?
Forward? To glory or doom?
His mind filled with stories of honour and pride of wars long ago?

Backward? Of the life, they left behind?
To the wife, the child back home?
The medals to be shown as trinkets or to speak never more?

Have they ever stopped to look around? Of the country, to be or not to be? The mountains, the rivers, the towns and to the sea.
The damage to be caused? The life preserved?

Regardless, the solider marches

Once i thought I knew something
and then knew nothing at all
Climb the wall or break it
fly on wing or fall
Somewhere in between
I've heard that balance is in tow
Something about ducks
being neatly in some row
Evades me, this enlightenment
pervades me does the doubt
Essentially there's always something
that we do without.