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William Woodson

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OiseauReturning Home Oiseau
Returning home I find a family,
Son on his own, choosing to live without me.
Daughter pursuing her dreams asking of me only menial labor, and

In a flash of time … Turning 58.

And so, I SAIL, miles away from home seeking solace in the wind and the sea.

Some days rain shares its wetness,
some days sun burns flesh and salt dries.

In between, I rest and hydrate.

Scheming new engineering to old problems, coping with what I can …
trying to find solutions in the parts and pieces of a former life.

Today is what matters. Choosing my own thoughts from what I was once, and

Each day moves quickly from coffee to telly vision, computer magic to chaos.

Lyrics and limericks give rise to prose.
Compositions leave the strings … encircling my head; minutes and hours pass.
Days become nights … the 24 Hr. Day a timeless monotony unleashed by living too long.

Then, inspiration strikes … old faces fade and new words race across the mind.
Legions unleashed,
centurions of ancient landscapes forming formations and
dancing the quadrille on endless plains.
Spartans sharing victory over the masses …
thoughts arising from within, not from the babbling of the masses from without.

This is the life I live, a world of my own replacing the needs of others … less fortunate.

Each day in a place of my own choosing,
limited only by the resources at hand and
the mind’s ability to create the life it will live.
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