One of my good, no great, friends recently read my blog, and emailed me this as a response.
I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.


duct tape my soul down.
and then I shall be free.
as an animal in the jungle.
pick my own and eat it too.
life and liberty .

Duct tape her shut.
and I will philosophize and expound.
on a freedom, which knew no bounds.
Duct tape that soulful voice
and then I 'll sit with pride
I wont be always looking back
at my granparents potato sack.

duct tape it close,
let her suffer in silence
and I can order my cup of tea
and then drink it real heartily.

and even if her voice cannot be heard
she trembles so soft
duct tape her still.
with her my life is hancuffed
my dreams are stifled and chilled.

quiet that consience
her who makes me think
her who causes me shame and guilt
about one drop of ink.

Who fathered such a child?
born of stubborn ways.
finds me and then want to tame,
a man that grew so wild..

fated from the start-
am I meant to be that one,
the porter
with his baggage .
from the mind and back again
deep into the heart.

I want the duct tape - the boy cries
I cannot live without,
I cannot play a life long tug of war
with this devil called DOUBT.

but the aged men with beard a greying,
stroking it ever so,
have seen men come and seen them go,
speaking of ...
and have seen wars come and seen wars go
but the art is here.
talking of michelangelo.
The art is here,
it needs contrast, shades of sort, a pain of some type
a soul that witnessed depth and breadth,
that heard the songs that played
a soul that tasted tears of love and laughter of the pain.
a soul, split and ever torn,
cryptic and rosy with one too many thorns.