This Place

I’m sitting on Mom’s back porch, smoking and listening to the little waterfall in Mom’s pond. Or water feature. Or liquid meditation area. What it’s called seems to depend on if you’re talking to the contractor, his son, or Captain Crazy. But, I digress…

From here, I can see the glow of the refineries warming the night sky with petrochemical burn off. Their low roar  is reassuring, somehow. Even so, and as much as I adore my mother, I would like nothing more than to run away from this place and never look back. 

My heart aches, heavy with memories as I write these lines. They are a collective that refuse to die. Life within life…my life, played out, redefined and judged by shadows, cast far and wide. It seems that there is no escape, no graceful way to bow out, until they’ve had their way. 

Sometimes, I wonder why things happen as they do. Why would an unwanted one, such as myself, dare ask fairness of Life? Do not misunderstand me; I am no victim. But I do have eyes to see, and ears to hear, and I have kept the dark secrets of many people. Yet, these people seem to dance through life with no conflict or struggle, their guilty deeds left far behind. I’m not a vengeful person, and only wish them well, but I am still only human and can’t help but wonder. Where is justice in the mix of it all? Why must I feel everything and nothing, at once? I have no appreciation for the double minded, yet that’s what I am tonight, sitting on Mom’s back porch. 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s