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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Thursdays that disappoint ! A sadness reigns . Some Thursdays come, most by, do go. Why everyone does not flow ?, I do not know. A lube job for you, an oil change for me. No consistency, why ?, this I can not see. Now taking two hours, sometimes more When it used to be twenty minutes to my door. Slipping the head of the family into the crevice. Sliding effortlessly into that moist, dark cave. Penetrating, feeling, touching walls that gave shelter – for a time – to little solders on the run. In search for that nest of eggs, now only for fun. For the years have taken, as did a medical device. Knowledge of, know full well that this cave is barren. Representing only a portion of its former self. The rest placed upon some medical shelf. Gone is the time of productivity, into space, staren. In search of, becomes the joy, the adventure, the desire and the pleasures, during a time. Times of closeness, not always, are they mine. That is alright, I guess, with this families head. Not alight are the excuses, the reasons I am fed for the loss, the denial of Thursday night, the searches, resurrecting of the hunt I might continue - in that beautiful cave – searching. Trying to find the right door, reaching. Searching for those none existent eggs, to ply the pleasures found in the hunt – denied, why? One has to wonder, what was your game. To know all the others, to know their name, Would not comfort, would not make things the same. No !, and should the hunt come to an end ?, know, that no matter what, I will still be a friend. Know that consistency is the spice of life, as is spontaneity and desire without strife. Has life in the spice jar, been forever lost ? Celibacy, indifference, aloneness the cost ? B. J. “A ” 2 April 10th 2005
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