I've seen this blog post thing ever since I joined this board, and I really don't know what it means or where this will show up, but I thought I would just type a few thoughts before I went to sleep. I'm really most comfortable in type. I consider myself a writer, even though I haven't written much. Just a few short stories and a shitload of poems. But someday I'm going to write a novel. I've got it all in my head, just haven't had the time to let it out. The kids are almost grown now, so time will be less precious in a few

years, and I will be able to write like I know I can. Until then, I'll write poems as the spirit moves me, and maybe, just maybe, I'll write my thoughts in this space. (wherever that may be) Well, gotta get going for now, but I'll leave you with a poem I wrote a few years ago about my ex-wife.



Bones



I walk into the room,And instantly I know that she has been here.

Fragrance or essence?

I try to decide as it seeps through my pores,

Seeking rest in some forgotten tomb.



Like an archaeologist of time,

I stumble across the remnants of a memory.

Excavating with trepidation,

I delicately brush away the dust of forgetfulness,

And feel the thrill of the past.
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