My Second Guess

How does one return to civilization from sanctuary like Walden?
How does one trade quaint snow globe atmosphere
For rampant vicious taxi cabs?
Where is right and wrong?

I left chasing hallucinations of modern Americana
New opportunity - the visions of our grandfathers

So boat left for angel island - the immersion had begun
But - missed so - My Alcatraz like cell
And lamented not a single moment - good nor bad

The memory had been beatified and immortalized
In the museum of the skull
A pilgrimage for the mind in despair
To worship - as good

The choice is knighted correct!
A step in the right direction!

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poem by C.S. Smith
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Caught in a Dream

Caught in a dream,
or so it seems.

I pick myself up off of the bench and take a walk
through the park - and faint light.
The trees seem endless
in their grey fog majesty.

In the center of the park, lies a dead cow, or horse,
and seems to have taken root.
The fog kindly covers
the horrific monument of agony.

An abandon playground is visible over the chain-link fence.
Abandoned; but the swings are pushed by the unsettling wind.
The tranquil scene was - however
scarred and devastated by a horrific sight.

Two vicious gators were brutally tearing at each other in the black pond.
In plain view of the jungle gym, they rolled and crashed violently,

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poem by C.S. Smith
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Thoughts on an Old Man at Work

Late one evening, I sat in my car - outside a fast food joint.
Outside, there was a silver-haired old man in a white button-down shirt and a black apron washing windows - and I couldn't help but stare.
What was an old man like him doing washing windows at a crumby fast food joint?
The man looked to be in his sixties, but his hard hands and wrinkled grimace added ten years. My guess was he wasn't there for a sense of purpose.

My mind began to wonder

Had the old man fallen upon hard times? Was he struggling to make ends meet?
Was the harsh look smeared across his face his way of letting me know that he'd rather be sitting in his backyard sipping whisky and smoking a cigar?
Horrible visions of shattered dreams come to mind.
For a moment I slip into his apron.
My back hurts from being hunched over all day - and my hands are sore from gripping the wiper.

A good life can only get so bad

Where do I go from here?
I snap out of my daze when my brother opens the car door.
I get to drive home and away from this place - and if I wanted too, I'd never have to come back
But the old man couldn't be so lucky

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poem by C.S. Smith
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On Dreams

I don't know what I'll do if my dreams don't come true
I suppose it doesn't happen very often anyway
After all it's a reward reserved for only the hardest of workers
That of which I surely cannot be

Yes, I don't know what I'll do if my dreams don't come true
I suppose I'll get married and start a family
I'll tell my kids to reach for the stars
And never stop dreaming
Then I'll have a beer and sigh
And watch TV until I fall asleep
I should be thankful for what I have
But to be honest
I just don't know what I'll do if my dreams don't come true

I really shouldn't let such thought cross my mind
Dreams can be dangerous
Dreams can turn into nightmares
I've seen what happens to the stars in Hollywood
I should consider myself lucky

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poem by C.S. Smith
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