Friday, November 18, 2011

Runaway Train


My strength is a misguided freight train, barreling along the wrong tracks. This undeniable strength, admired by so many, has the potential to steer me off course, and when fueled by anger, the train runs away.

In the tunnel I can't see the tracks. I can't see anything. I hear the steel wheels screech along the rails, grinding, twisting, burning metal, straining to remain on the path. My destination is blocked from view in the dark, black, brick tunnel. Yet, I shovel angry coals into the bowels of the beast with the steam pouring from my chimney. Sparks fly, from the wheels, from the shovel, from you and me, as the friction eats away at us.

I want to find the brake. I want to find the release. I want to stop the train.

The angry coals pour out of the coffers of the coal car. I look deep inside the car to see the seemingly endless source of the coal, as it pours out of the top and spills along the tracks behind my runaway train. Below the coal car is a pipeline from the long row of freight cars behind. Fourty-six cars, one for each year of my life, all filled with fear. Each car pumps the fear into the coal car, and magically, the fear becomes anger. Black, angry coals to fuel my passion, and fuel my destruction.

I want to find the brake. I want to find the release. I want to stop the train.

My place is in the engine, furiously shoveling angry coals into the inferno that powers my runaway train. All of that strength with which I'm so endowed steers me along on a course of sure destruction.

I want to find the brake. I want to find the release. I want to stop the train.

No lever. No brake. No release. No choice. I leap for relief.

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Tuesday, November 1, 2011

I Hope You Know


I hope you know I love you,
And I want you to stay,
That I am only human,
And I had lost my way.
You truly are my happiness,
You are the reason I pray!

I wish that I were stonger,
Sometimes I am so weak.
But peace with myself,
Is truly all that I seek.
I know that life without you,
Today would be bleak.

I hope you know that I love you. . .
I hope you know. . .
I hope you know.

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About Sash


People call me "Sash" because I'm a former beauty queen in my old home town. My father used to ride in an MC which got me interested in the culture. After my last divorce I said "goodbye" to Susie Homemaker and became the naughty, biker chick I always felt inside. (Read more...)