240 New Moons

I haven’t reached the drinking age yet, but I have tasted so much. Can I taste words? I must be able to, for I am full. I filled myself with riddles and parables, to explain why I stand here confused. I suppose it is in the name though, so I don’t worry how the wind blows. I learned sometime ago not to worry about silly things, like why the grass grows, or the sun sets, but more important things, like why we spend so much time in front of TVs or in traffic. Why we are in such a hurry to get somewhere we ought not to be. Rushing about like blood to the head when struck. Oh how quick tempered we, as people, can be. Fast pace but our reflexes are much too slow, so we stumble on our untied shoestrings, and there is only enough time to get back and not tie them while we’re down there. We can dust off our feet but the dirt is so thick from midnight runs that it won’t even make a dent. Our shields are bent from knocking down each others walls only to steal their bricks to reinforce ours. He who builds the greatest castle in the end will win, or so they tell me, While I sit in my straw house being blown down by the big bad wolf. So I light it on fire just so he won’t win, yet I am still without a home. Homelessness is where I learn that age doesn’t guarantee experience. Someone 20 can go through more than someone that spends 70 years on this world. I am not saying this with arrogance or to brag, But so that you don’t look down on me. Saying I haven’t learned, but you have never died, and that is the only way you can truly live. Life without living is just a morgue. A place to pass time not to stay but leave when you grow restless. In my 2 decades I learned a better way to count, like how 5 plus 2 equals 5,000 with a remainder of 12. Left over with more then I began with, and when you begin to understand this, you will begin to learn, know, and grow thoughts of where to go. I’m traveling down these railroad tracks, following the train’s horn. It continually grows from me, making it harder to see where it’s heading. At the next fork I might have to sleep just enough time to rest, and then pack up to run the rest of the race. I might not be in first place, but I’m definitely not in last. As I pass another, I see in his eyes and face, fatigue. I strive not to become like that, so I kick it into hyper drive wishing only to finish this life. Not exactly to step onto the medal stand, but as I stumble on I know I will. I just started a little late. So save a place for me; I’m on my way back home, but not for sometime hopefully. At least 20 years more years or so. That way I can perfect my stride. That way when I come to the tape I glide with a smile. Instead of struggling and choking on my sweat. So I say again save me a spot for someday I will place that wreath on my neck.