Battered Old Blank Pages

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Battered old blank pages
Waiting to be smeared by ink
Disheveled by passing time
Often fraught with more than we think
Crisp white canvas no more
Absorbing life as a passerby
So pause before you type
A silent witness to these lies

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Sonia


“Are you responsible for her?” They weren’t happy to see her wearing trousers, but I thought she looked superb. I guess her appearance wasn’t their concern. They wanted her to fit into their society’s mold for women. They were uncomfortable with someone who so blatantly defied them. Sonia didn’t give a “rat’s ass” (her words) about their structures. She was Sonia and no one else. She lived by her own rules and no one else’s. She could be infuriating, but I think I loved her.

“Sir, would you be so kind as to speak like a gentleman around the lady?” I gently replied.

“Ladies do not dress as such.”

Before I was able to interfere, she had bloodied the poor gent’s nose. I grabbed her hand and off we ran. She held tight to her sloppy hat. I hated that thing. I never thought it flattered her. It was too big and worn.

Sonia was a little rough around the edges. I knew that. It was fairly clear from the get go. But, there was another side of her. There was a side of Sonia that you would only see when you had her comfortable and feeling secure within herself. She was kind and loving then. It was as if all the outside threats melted away. Her smile was infectious. Sonia was a special girl. I will never forget her and our time together.

I lost her sometime before Berlin. It is difficult to remember exactly where. All of Europe was in chaos. Sonia had strong feelings about the whole thing. I just wanted her, but Sonia had a stronger moral compass. She slipped away to fight her own private war.

There were reports of her joining the resistance in France, Belgium, and North Africa. I believe those were all exaggerated, but some people need to believe in heroes. She could still make me smile from across the world. I didn’t know how to find her. I don’t know if I would anyway.

My life had become dull without Sonia. I typed away at my desk in that same room everyday. The hammering of the keys kept me agitated, but I had no other skills. The world was changing and I didn’t know how to change with it. I felt like I was fading into oblivion without any beauty in my life.

So I just kept typing. I had to get these ideas of freedom out into the world. They were the only thing I could use against the atrocities. I wasn’t the soldierly type. I was a man of words. I hated evil as much as the next guy, but I had to fight them in my own way. I thought perhaps I could transcend the war with my ideas.

On my way out of the office at the end of each day I checked the mail one last time. There was hope in my search. I was never rewarded with any word from her.

Living In A John Hughes Movie

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Living in a John Hughes movie
Suburbia laid out before me
I don’t look the outlaw type
Head of this house; I’m still free
But a simmering rebellion within
Thoughts not transferred in awhile
Preparing for this revolution
But it’s my typewriter, flair & my preppy style

I Can’t Type This Early

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I can’t type this early
With my babies asleep
For circus will begin
At the first, slightest peep
The day will begin soon enough
I’d like some time for me
The unsteady quiet before dawn
Just myself, my words & this coffee

Staring Into A Blank Page

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Staring into a blank page
Where can we take this from here
Will you support an unattractive soul
Will I always find friends of good cheer
I question the future as if it weren’t sold
Please tell me we still have a chance to be free
I type out thoughts that you might never know
But throughout time & space, you’ve meant more to me