UTOPIA THE SUITE

Sometimes in our years of living, a single man takes the weight of his time and era on his shoulders all alone. Standing tall and answering the bells call. Strangers approach me and shake my hand and mind as they introduce me to their life stories, having me feel all their emotions, especially their happiness, and pain. What is it within me that allows them to feel safe and free?

I was told that I have a higher calling. Still, I would not call myself a healer, for I am a simple man who has been down the many roads less traveled. I am still trying to understand as I am still searching for that book of knowledge and wisdom to answer every question that has no meaning, like what is love? What is life

The sun shines in so many ways that once I thought it was my god lighting my way, saying the glow of my rays is the brightness overlapping the darkness in your heart. The moon sent me to follow your shadow.


I am turning into the man I was meant to be in the final chapter of this story. You are just a character in between a couple of pages, just like I am one in yours, and if we can not help each other be the hero, then let us be the villain, for these books are our life stories.

We did not come to fight to lose; we came to fight to win. We all live with our sins, with our backs running against the wind. The summer night's skin looks on fire, or maybe I'm sunburnt from sitting outside too long. Let me ride with you on this tide with the waves crashing against the jetties and my mind.

I walk this shell and sand-covered beach, knowing that every dream I had and every star I wished upon as a young child is now within reach.

Sitting down by the sea, I realize that I can not sit in the past nor stand in the future. I can only walk through the walls and doors of the present. After all, I can not dwell in any other place because I might miss my calling.

How low can you go? How deep are you willing to swim and search for all that you need to know? What are we waiting for, or the better question is, who? I have a handful of gold in my hand, and I'm counting the other fish inside this florescent bowl getting drunk on other people's spirits, never their own, waiting in line, so my story can be told.

I am climbing ant hills that I once thought to be mountaintops wanting more and never knowing how to stop. Too many lies and not enough truths until now, with the promises kept and lessons learned.

How can I ask without knowing that it is no longer a feeling but a look I wear on my king's face? What am I doing to be a so-called saint when everyone else wears a mask out of fear and judgment of being called a sinner in this land of make-believe places? I do not need to cleanse myself in holy water, for I may walk this earth, but soon my mind will erase this place, and I will enter my utopia.