Dacotah Rose

For my Grandma.

A blossom fine— Dacotah Rose
whose bloom inspires fragrant prose
has graced the world with beauty true
as pure and bright as morning dew

Her sweetly essence filled the air
enfolded us in tender care
Her gentle smile, which gleamed with grace
incited joy upon one's face
And heartening heart, both deep and vast
imparted love that's unsurpassed

The heart, still full; the face, still joy’d; the air, still sugary sweet
will each remain forevermore, until again we meet

Love (with all of my heart) your Bobby

Mountainous Molehills

I'm broken—as most are.
"Only human," but far more than simply imperfect.
Unwhole.
Incomplete.
Unrealized.
I am not what I could be, only what I am.
Just shy of fatally flawed, but well enough to get along with little trouble or effort; and therein lies the problem: I get along, and that's all it really takes, so that’s as much as I give.
I could travel the troublesome road, or put forth greater effort, but why bother when this is so much easier?

Why climb when I can coast?

The tougher path is always more interesting, and ultimately more rewarding an experience, and I'll certainly be a better person for having walked it.
And more effort on my part will often, if not always, yield more desirable results, again, making for a more rewarding experience, bettering me as a person.
But doing either, or both is difficult, and at times excruciating, and so I often choose to do but one, or, more often, neither.
I'm not proud of it, this is just the way it is; and from the look of things, I’m hardly alone.

You can’t see much from down here, only what lies immediately ahead, often taking the curves faster than we should, despite the signs, or possibly in spite of them.

I hear the view from above is amazing, with an entirely new and enlightening perspective, showing you not only what lies far ahead, but other roads, and the their destinations.

Here’s hoping I have it in me to see it for myself someday.