Time passes by so slowly

I place a watch on my wrist.
I can here it tic.
Just like the clock on my wall.
That digital one is so tall.
For all to see.
except for me.
I remove the watch from my wrist.
no more listening to this.
I can not undo time.
It passes by so slowly.

On the side of that building.
I can see it moving.
It has a linear line.
but not in my mind.
There I can stop it.
Watch it.
as it goes back to where I pic.
It starts to tic.
One second at a time.

In the passage of time.
There is no rhyme.
No reason to be.
Just a beginning
no end in site
my time, my plight
Too far for me to reach.
Where I have been I see.
This is what I think it to be.
As time passes me by so slowly.


It has happened. I no longer have heart. It started to disappear after it broke apart. I felt as small as the pieces of my heart. Gone into the wind. I live because my heart beats. That one is still there. My other heart. The one I love with. The one I learn compassion through, that heart is dead and gone.

Extensions cord.

What a useful little tool you are.

making your way into the lives of many.

extending the way they use this tool.

on me it was painful and brutal.

I was taking a shower that one afternoon.

when suddenly the water became frigidly cold.

Instantly I sprung to the back of the tub.

As a whip you were that day.

You get things to reach, when far.

What a useful little tool you are.

Look at me.

I stand about five feet eleven inches tall. Dark copper tone almost reddish tanned skin. My hair is long, curly, and below my shoulders. My hair has turned its usual two toned, deluxe color code of the salt and pepper shade. Thanks to the getting old, age of things, I must say. I have broad shoulders on a very thin frame. I am athletic and it only shows when I expose my athleticism. For the most part I am slender with a fading six pack. My legs have always been on the skinny side. Unlike my forearms, that seems to have been adapted from a cartoon.

My dark skin in the summer is so far from the shades I go through before and after, the burning sun. Charcoal at times. In my youth. I rarely visit the hot burning sun in nothing but shorts for the entire course of the day. Those good ole Speed-o days. Yes even I had the itsy bitsy undies, for a swim suit, good ole days. Swimming in the water. Rolling in with the waves. Body surfing. Still trying to be a kid.

I stand tall, head held high, fully upright. I don’t move much. It’s a bad habit. Moving around that is. I did plenty of that in my youth. I did a lot of things in my youth. Things even the youth in me shouldn’t have. I was even doing adult things in my youth. Talk about growing up. Too soon at that. Still today I am trying to get a life. It shows in the attire I cover up this scrawny body with. Jeans and tee shirts. Slacks and Polos. Nothing to look at here, seriously. Look at me.

That Sword

You are such a clean steel instrument.
Silent and true.
Wrapped with cloth tight and firm
A wooden handle at the hilt.

Nothing blunt in your appearance.
Slender as you are in style.
A creation like no other.
You will not be still.

You are my sword.
I'll live by your code.
It has become my oath.

You are majestic.
Valiant my virtue.
your strength confides in us both.

You are my sword,
hammered steel so beautiful
Honor and truth will be my life.
Perseverance I'll get from you.

Capitalize This.

Time to do away with hate and fame.

It’s not like we’re exactly, the same.

Do I want the world to know my name?

Would I rather waive or pay?

It’s what’s going on today.

Resources are free and even if I paid,

why is the profit so great?

The more I want, the more I have.

It seems that greed has taken a path.

It’s time to hesitate, slow the pace,

get what I need, and greed should dissipate.

This I pray.

If everyone did things this way.

There will always be something to save.

I’ll save the Earth, I’ll save the trees,

I’ll do this all while smoking weed.

I’ll save the money that I make

by not overpaying for a slice of cake.

I make less for my pocket.

It’s all for your profit.

So just stop it.

Bloggers bogers.

I will make this short and sweet. There is no reason to blog about what other people do and why. Everyone has their own motivation and mental crisis. Tell me why you do it better than 18 others. Tell me why 20 of your stories are better. You can’t imagine why I am motivated or depressed. Nor can you begin to fathom where I am going in life.

A true blogger Rafael Gonzalez. My blog is all about me to you, even if you are not here. Go figure.