the drive, personal nature photography

the following is something of a personal stream of consciousness; i don’t know if it will make much sense to anyone past the iteration of me that existed when I wrote it. happy travels, then, regardless.

You sit
stern in the understanding
of your surroundings:
how it is
is how it is
and past that
nothing else can be of much importance.

An honored mindset, of course.

How many-numbered were such decisions
executed as thus!
By men, strong and fit,
dedicating themselves to respective mission
with “hell or high-water” intent.
Despite natural problem
and obstinate obstacle
the wise seem so precise
choosing exact
without a doubt
the action to be carried out
at every stage of their commission.

Business comes satisfying
and battle, as a sport.

Life is a game
they say,
maybe a test
of humor
and intellect
kinda like chess, I guess,
but Captain,
“Oh, my Captain!”
have you seen the time
when commerce
and war
became a chore
and no occasion away could amend you?

Wise men struggle,
I’m sure.

Fractured brains don’t always work the same;
are you trackin’ what I’m sayin’?
What kinds of blinds
did you place on your eyes
to ease the seat where you interpret the world from?

in a desert engagement,
fresh blood mixed into burning sand
fashioning such a morbid type of mortar
(what things could we build with that?);
the Soldier, down,
the Afghan offered his hand
and said, “You know,
you don’t have to stay here if you don’t wanna.”

Orders are orders
and honor is honor
we don’t do three-fourths of what we do
just ’cause we wanna.

Shall men, then
submit to rough earth
and roaring oceans
in pursuing the grace of freer will?
Should they
launch forth sincerely
to all unknowns
with naught but a narrow lifeline – –
a rope of cloth,
a cord of twine – –
barely enough of a safety catch to restrain them
if they happen to fail in these wild pursuits?
Would that be suitable enough to rebuke
a history of what we were taught to see
as regulatory and fair abuse?

Should such men really submit
at all?
(Remember the Alamo!)

I imagine
wise men
would seek some semblance of a safehaven
where they will repair their hopes
with said twines and ropes
in realistic endevour
while they wait for their time
to die.

Thus pictured
here I stand
beneath the faded stars of a painfully early, cool September dawn:
time is such a luxury
in this reality
sacrificed to satisfy
very sensible circumstances
but what if one considers
another price
Whose time, then, would that buy?

Crossroads lead to other crossroads
but not every arrangement should be expected
to ride so easy.
How it is
is how it is, then
(as some would say)
and sometimes that’s just how it has
to be.

(The End)

Jillian wrote this.

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