Why do they make it so hard for people to better themselves. So, growing up I never had a permanent house. As I grow older I’m learning to find stability in instabilities. I have moved around so much in my life I really do not have a place I can call home. Thus I have also learned to never attach to anything. I realized that home can be found in the people you surround yourself with and the memories and traditions that develop. Home is happiness and my happiness most times is with the people I love  even if it is just myself at times. My own house. And I can’t wait to be there.

This poem by Ronald Chapman sums it up:


In the darkness of the night,

Away from all street lights,

Some drifters walk past.


A cold wind is blowing

Where are you going?

Please look at me.


Hopeless and desperate,

Hiding in the shadows,

Forgetting who I am.



Looking out the window

Well I’m dreaming

All the sweet dreams and

The memories of the past.

I’m looking out the window, watching

The day go by, watching

The cars go by,

Asking myself questions,

Wondering why the world

Has so much hatred,

Watching the sky.

Looking out the window, feeling

Nature, still struggling

To maintain balance

As the rain pounds against

My window.

Regular Strangers

How empty days would be without regular strangers

You know the kind:

The strangers, the nameless faces

That grace the place of your daily routine


To be an empath

Is to see the same regular strangers

Day in and day out

To know the time and the place

That they will be

But not who or why they are.


I find curious comfort

Knowing that to someone, somewhere,

These are not strangers

But best friends and lovers

Colleagues and siblings


To someone, somewhere

These strangers

Are family.

My Broken Leg

I lie here on my bed

Before me lies my broken leg

In its plaster cast its spread

Straight and bulky.


I contemplate its bulky form

My former shape lies within

The bulk for now will be the norm

But ere long it should be back again!

I now have time to contemplate

My life, my sins and all my deeds

As here I lie the healing to await


I watch through my window

The skies outside, so blue

As time continues on its flight

Stand still oh Time!

I wish to yell

I wish I could do something more fun

But no, I am stuck on my bed

Plates and screws that stabilize

Cause pain and bring tears to my eyes

Life should be so sublime

Yet I fear what the Book may tell

I need more time to contemplate

Reparations for my deeds, I fret!

Please Lord – wait!

Stop, act not on the Book just yet!

My neighbours showing sympathy

When they see me hobbling along.

Please Lord lift my blindness

That I may see where I’ve been wrong.

Give that gentleness I may repay

With kindness evermore

That impatience now may stay

And anger I will deplore.

Its funny how life altering events often wrap themselves in days that begin like any other.  


I can’t look in this box

I don’t take risks, I can’t
I only have enough, for today
I know what losing costs,
Coins rolling away, no moss
a gathering, this or any way.

I walk at the fringe and look in
I see in the reflection, of the mirror,
my weakness, my resolve has stress-
fractures, my life a poorly played chess
match, if only, my head were clearer.

I need fresh air, let me out, of this box
so much refuse to trip on with shoes,
feet not mine that I hide with black socks,
the only hazard is me, you best take stock
and remember don’t regret what you choose.