Friday, August 27, 2004


A Blindman once stood upon this corner,
complete with wooden pole,
attached to a medal fixture at the bottom to announce his arrival.
He waves his cane to and frough in the air,
looking for what he can not see.
He tapes the stick upon the ground.
He is in such a foreign place,
now searching for what he can not find.
he wanders a few feet to the north,
seeing clearly that this may not be the correct direction.
East feels better, he strengthens his stride in that direction.
His staff hits pavement, then stone, then gravel
which soon turns to ash.
South then, or west perhaps he thinks silently...
or southwest, but first he must find where he began from.
Aimlessly he wanders,
eagerly searching for something he will never lay eyes upon.
But look! who are all those people following his every move?
A sea of men and women who can all see on their own, but they are all silent,
They do not turn in any direction other then this blind man with an elegant title!
Who is he?
Then i noticed the black thick book in his hand that seems sacred yet unread.
Then catharsis sets in, and the enigma fades,
and i realize this man must be a Pastor.

Ametuer Youth

oh the triumph of man,
to august my friend!
we will march on.
and were we all happy in our ametuer youth?
one would hope.
i wonder if i will want to or could exhange this day for that,
if but one.
i know to run again would be a feet!
and but again i will, or fly?
who knows, and at that age will i care?
i will reminice on a lovers first kiss
and on more innocent times.
oh Tabitha we were free once.
we were young once,
we were free and innocent once.

-Blaise Lawhawne

Wednesday, August 25, 2004

she knows my name.

oh how failure knows me by name.
she follows me from street to street.
her lipstick traces stain pillow cases,
and yet she, relentlessly places my face
upon gravel, and broken glass made of words and deeds.
while bleeding i find friends vanish as ghosts
and the corpse of loves past turn up missing.
realize this;
it is not the success that measures the worth of a man,
but how and if he learns from his failure that set him

Tuesday, August 03, 2004


Sunday, August 01, 2004

Billy left behind immortality

Why is it that Americans so crave immortality? Well there is no such thing to my knowledge, yet if we could buy it would we? Are we scared of death or the unknown, and if we are not why do we put such an emphasis on youth? The most confusing, lonely, forlorn years of my life are glorified as "the best years of my life" as one of my high school teachers put it. Was she insane? She must have had a better high school experience than I did, I remember sitting in class after she said that scared, and pissed. "If its all downhill from here i am f#$^@!".

The American Indians and Eskimos revere the elderly in their tribes, they knew that they had great wisdom and many years of knowledge that could better their lives. Now we heave elderly into homes and forget their existence.

I "adopted a grandparent" when I was living in Orlando, it was a class project for humanities but even after the semester was over I kept visiting "Billy". I saw pictures of her when she was young and beautiful, full of life and smiles. She told me all about her life; her marriage to her sailor husband who had fought in world war two and her 2 children. The stories were fascinating, and it was as if a book had suddenly come alive, I hung on every word and moral lessons. I will never forget the day when she taught me my biggest lesson, the end of mortality. She stated somberly that her son only visited her once a year and she had yet to see her grandchild. Billy told me each morning she wondered if she was going to die that day, and if not then, then when?

"Isn’t that why I am in here? I cannot leave, I have no freedom, no car, no self administered decision, and I am in here... seemingly just waiting to die."

The bingo room/cafeteria suddenly fell quiet for me when she said that. The wrinkles on her face were soon covered with silent tears and my heart lay upon the floor where she so subtly crushed it with those few words. No one cared, no one remembered her name, the accomplishments were gone, the awards decayed, her dreams forgotten, the love of her life, dead. Her son didn't care. Her friends, gone.

What is to become of me? Of you?
I am reminded of the Rumi when he said

"When you are dead,
Seek for your resting place
Not on the earth,
But in the hearts of men."

She has done so, for me Billy left me with a sense of urgency to love while I still can, create while my hands are not yet frail, give of myself while my heart is not yet full, think while my ideas are still my own, run away while freedom is still an option and set my course so that one day I may remain in the hearts of men, forever.

how ironic that i was dealing with this same topic one year ago (see first entry of blog in 08/04)