Abundance is the belief between
Yes and no.

A vote for faith in the powers that be
while internally "there's not enough" may crow.
instead of the illusion of choice it is
the choice of delusion.

To say, there is a way to be
wealthy and stealthy,
fatherly and healthy,
kind and calm,
a killer and monster,
AND on and on it goes.

A ship manned by conviction
towards land that is paradise.

A place more than nice
but may feel like rolling the dice.
Not to worry, that is just the price.

Because if you believe
There is no chess
the answer is Yes.

Where there is fame
or a money rain
remember this
givers gain.

I like the little moments
like laying on the ground and
looking up at the sky...
looking at the stars.
You like danger

Danger, adrenaline, excitement, energy
They are why I live
Energy when I wake up and think about my day
Live hard, die old

Days spent resting are filled with thoughts
Old mistakes constantly examined
Thoughts, dreams, problems, solutions
Examine then action, to war!

Solutions to this are none, kill or die
war I am designed for
die if my thoughts consume me
For I am a madman

Me, I smile at danger
Madman I chose and was given
Danger is to others what is exciting to me
Given a little moment, I am lost in memories

Me? Me - oh my craziness is fun
Memories remember madmen
Fun is created by them
Madmen are few

Them. The others. The comfortable? Are many.

Few are necessary
Many are not

Necessary to moving a species forward
Not by luck, but by toil

Forward we march
Toil tirelessly until we finally rest

March on Madman
Hard lie the quest ahead.

The woes of the wanderer
are many and few
After  all we get life with a view

Over mountains, through muck
Under water, over clouds
our adventures are countless
but sometimes we join the crowds

For connection or  Kindness
Longing or  Lust
it is rare times that we get
So recharging is a must

The highs and hellos
Smiles  and hugs
are bittersweet
and feel like drugs

For awhile we float,
just like the rest
a beautiful memory created
but the world nags like a pest

Movement begins
a slow roll at first
and it doesn't come alone.
Loss to be nursed
as new friends ask for your phone

New place, old pain,
same ache, new take,
and it all begins again.

I saw a weary woman the other day
sandals on as she hobbled along

Her shoes scraped the rough asphalt, 
as she thought about where she had went wrong

Even her thank you for letting her cross
half-raised and full of pain, face cringing at the next step.
I continued on heading to train, but my mind remained on the emotions I'd met

It was a gift of perspective, a lesson of some kind
It happens always, when you least expect it

For me it was a chance to find gratitude
a gentle reminder to breathe and reflect

There is much hardship in this world
the weight of which you need kinship to hold

A hug, an ear, a gift or some soft words
small actions that say “I see you”

Empathy that breaks the pattern, picks them out of the herds
a special skill, one to be honed like a color mixed to a hue

An artist you are in the painting of reality
Sweeping that way and then the other

Pulling from your palette is the key
a little love, some peace, and then sometimes further

Share your hunger and stories too
Because in the end what makes a difference is this

They are you and you are them
so reach out a limb and be true

Aimless in this whirlpool of distractions,  but what do they distract from?
Stuck in the wind of wondering
Achieving only a fraction of my potential, a refraction
Floundering in the muddy puddles of pondering, not great at anything?

So 'follow your gut' they say, and towards that I am swayed, except,
towards what is my gut even casting it's ray?
Although I'm sure I did play, I'm not sure I was able accept an obsession
when my childhood was in session

What is the lesson? Do I need to seek out some kind of regression? 
To go back to a day where I indeed did play? Or seek out what people from my childhood may say?
Really my question is always will I be okay? No. Will I be great?

I refuse to resign myself to some mediocre fate, but even as I write this, the night gets ever so late.
At this rate of thoughts there is no possible way I go hit the hay. 
So instead I must adapt my gait, as a goat does climbing a mountain.

I daydream of soaring, yet I can't see on what. 
It's as though I am God looking down, saying 'put it all around him'
I am surrounded and trapped by 'success', I know the way out is my gut
I am lashed by the flames inside me.
These fantasies crash with feelings in jarring flashes. 

The reason I believe is solely in evidence I have given myself.
In my mad dashes towards the top shelf, away from the 'normalcy' I hate
Small windows into a world where I am unmatched. 
Where onto me others latch as I shoulder the weight.

I believe somehow someway THAT is my fate.
Actions will take me towards a world I want. 
Towards wealth I will not flaunt, and evil I will taunt.
Towards moments I will haunt the darkness, and many a jaunt.
At the least I will write my story in my own font, and have a life not gaunt.

From my heart and soul,
James Floyd