When I Learn To Swim, Will The Water Change?

In a mythical future things would be better. Isn’t this what we all think about? One day, some day, maybe next time it will turn out right, turn out better, or turn out differently.

We wish we were satisfied while we realize there would be no progress without that struggle.

We feel guilty for our dissatisfaction since so many have it worse, and it could always be worse.

We strive for something better while we grasp and fumble on the details of how one actually accomplishes such a thing. How can I make things better? Can I? If it could be done, if it were so easy, wouldn’t life already be that way?

I can make ripples as an individual, but won’t the water just return to it’s still surface? Even if we all make splashing waves, the water stays the same.

Still, I have to believe we were put here to do more than just tread water.

When I learn to swim, will the water change?

If I start to drown, will someone save me?

Red Journal – Poem – Drive Through

We drive through as if we see
more than a few dotted yellow lines
and a few inches of crumbling black

Pieces of pine trees emerge,
emulating an outline for our
path traveled.

Eyes ahead, we sometimes spare eachother glances.
Our tattered clothes rest upon yellow bits of foam
poking through, against us.

His weathered, nicotine hands grip
the pin pricked pattern of
brown, leather
wheel.

One denim and grease leg is stead to the floor.
The other leg rocks side to side
keeping in time with the tune
on the radio.

One hand rests his head
lids half open, four ‘o clock shadow running late
lips half parted in concentration on the early am mist
parting for the boat front.