Wes’s Life

I fig­ured for Valentine’s Day that I should prob­a­bly put up some­thing from my note­book. Heres some­thing I wrote a while ago.

A banter of folly dances between us,
Hiding my thoughts and fears,
Grad­u­ally becom­ing harder with each smile.
Trying to quell my ner­vous mind,
Yet, the fog­gi­ness of doubt fills my head.
The battle con­sumes my mind,
With­draws me from the banter.
Rejec­tion, fail­ure, and uncer­tainty,
They mock me at this moment,
Know­ing I can’t do what my heart wants.
Closer and closer with each minute lean.
Uncer­tainty grips me as I draw near,
Trying to push me back.
Stub­born as a mule, my heart refuses.
Senses monop­o­lized and heart sur­ren­dered.
In an instant, noth­ing else mat­ters.

You that choose not by the view
Chance as fair, and chose as true.
Since this for­tune falls to you,
Be con­tent and seek no new.
If you be well pleased with this
And hold your for­tune for your bliss,
Turn you where your lady is,
And claim her with a loving kiss.

-Bassanio Act 3, Scene 2, Lines 131-138

I have plenty of writ­ing in my note­book wait­ing to be shown. I would put it up here if it weren’t for the fact that I know cer­tain people are look­ing at it. Oh well, if you see me, I should have my note­book on me, feel free to ask to see my writ­ing.

Sur­rounded by palm and frond,
Undis­turbed by all but warm breeze.
The white lac­quered Adiron­dack chair,
Has seen better days.
Worn and splin­ter­ing, coat peel­ing.
Des­o­la­tion over­whelms untouched sand,
Bits of boat here and there,
Amongst remains of five-​star and villa.
Sunset casts the sand on fire,
Embers of purple, orange and red.
Calm rests on the beach,
As the sun clings to the hori­zon.
It too wishes the moment eter­nal.
The sun slips behind infi­nite curve.
Moon and stars freed by cool night,
Remind me beauty is every­where.

The dealer’s hand smoothly laid down the next coated hard stock piece of paper from the dark cherry wood card shoe. The pit­boss took a sip of scotch from the crys­tal high­ball. Nor­mally, the casino would have scoffed at a pit­boss drink­ing, but they knew very well that a bit of scotch would calm nerves. The card hit the soft green felt, weath­ered from a little under a month of play. The adren­a­line dis­charged into my mouth, leav­ing a taste that lin­gered with an unsat­is­fy­ing after­taste. The card’s land­ing still rever­ber­at­ing against the already lain down side-​facing king. One large spade winked up at me as the pit­boss fin­ished off the scotch. The dealer’s hand went for the navy backed card laying beneath a smirk­ing queen. For all of her mirth, she was sit­ting on a nine of dia­monds. The pit­boss walked towards the phone before it began its metal­lic chorus, know­ing it must sing its song. A crisp voice came over the phone wrought with a slight tinge of reluc­tance. Sit­ting there wait­ing, all I could feel was pure jubli­a­tion, await­ing a simple piece of heat-​transfer paper with a short line of let­ters, num­bers and one soli­tary dollar sign. The casino felt that with large sums of money, the only way the winner could feel secure was through a bank trans­fer. I’ll take a trans­fer anyday.

For­tune smiles upon me,
Her eyes shin­ing at mine.
A tremen­dous beauty,
More than I could wish.
Omnia vincit amor;
et nos cedamus amori.