Fancy houses hide behind strong fences Holding fast to the words without any pretenses Passage is jammed As new ideas are slammed Against stones in the road Where once the waters flowed Deliveries are suspect Yet attempting to inject Thoughts into the yards Lined around by guards Memory Lane or Main The result is the same Each resident's address Waits for success

Why One little word Rack your brain Reason Wonder Tell me why One little word Gets under my skin Question Doubt Why me Insanity Who knows Why

Where I Stand             I am a private person. Not private to the extent of being reclusive like Howard Hughes or Greta Garbo.   Not public though, like those that feel the need to post their every move on Facebook or Twitter. Do you really need to know that I’m running to town to get ice cream, will be back in 15 minutes and then I’m going to wash a load of clothes and then I’m going to curl up on the couch with my dog and watch my favorite shows. NO! I will share the highs and the lows of my life with family and friends. I enjoy spending time with people I care about, but I don’t need to know everything about ya business, nor you mine.   I am a private person.   I do not care for artificial. Especially people .So many have become indifferent to the world around them, fake smiles, fake feelings. It’s easy I suppose. They feel comfortable in this artificial, throw away world we have created. What is real anymore? Real is the parent who reads a story to their child, who cares about