And once again
I find myself at another moment
where change is necessary.
Once again, I have come to the end
of another chapter,
or maybe this is the end of another journal
and while I understand
that when one door closes,
another door opens, I am trying to find out
which way to go or what to do,
or next is a common question,
which is where I often find myself
when a change occurs, or when something happens,
or even when I wake up to a new realization,
I find myself facing a common and reoccurring question,
which is this,
“What now?

Even more than I wish to see the lights
once more, across the old skyline
of New York City, which is a place I recall,
long ago, and more than I wish
to stand in one of the ancient cities
or to see The Ruins or Rome,
or more than I have it in my heart
to see the sun go down
somewhere along the coast of Italy,
and even more than I desire the dreams I have
of seeing a place called La Isla Espiritu Santo,
which is somewhere in my dreams
and beyond my hopes that I might see these things;
above all, are my hopes and the desire
that I might find my way to see the simplest things.

I have to go
or move
or get up
or, if I don’t
I might fall deeper.

Understand?

I have been to the point where
I had to ask myself,
What now?
What do I do?
What’s gonna happen?
Or,
What’s next?

1)

I think of little kids
and the games they play
or little girls
in their little dresses,
or young boys on the playground
and how
that used to be me, a long, long time ago.

I think about kids on swings
or seesaws and how they dream, or laugh
or wait for the final bell to ring
and summer can take place.

I suppose this one is not for everybody.
Then again, that’s the thing about art
or maybe this is more about me,
or subjectively,
I suppose this is how it goes with the written word.
When it comes to the word,
anything and everything can be relative
and to me, or to some
I have come to realize that in my desire to reveal
or to expose a need, a thought, a want, or hope
and to honor the drive within my heart;
I have to come here—as in right here,
to open up
and let myself go.

There was a time, which I recall
long ago, when the summer came
and we were young
and the fireworks took over the sky.

I talk about this often
when the nostalgia kicks up.
I think about the innocence of youth
or the feel of dipping your toes
in a pool of cold water, or too cold,
in fact and during a hot morning.

1)

This is not just about hope. 
This is about belief
But more
This is about those who push us
or support us
and this about the difference between
those who lead us to believe
and those who lead us to doubt.

I used to hope for a chance
or a shot
or I’d look for an open window
or some kind of opportunity
but then again, I used to believe
that no one would ever
take a chance on me
or that no one would ever give me a shot
which was worthwhile.

Is there any hope in pain?
Or is pain part of hope?
And perhaps both are true
or interchangeable
and perhaps pain is part of learning
or understanding
and perhaps pain is part of our awakening
to which, we wake up
and we learn that we have to change,
or if nothing else,
we have to go about our dreams
a different way.

I can say this is an ode to those
who put me down
or to those who told me
don’t even think about it
or that as hard as I try
I’d be fortunate to be average
or to be anything special;
I’d be lucky because
either I was not from their club
or tribe
or that someone who looks
like “me” or speaks the way I do,
with a New York accent, somewhat
obvious and a so-called “way”
about me, I remember being told
that perhaps, at best,
I’d be more suitable for jails . . .

And so goes the delusions of youth
or the delusions of grandeur
and so goes the world as we knew
or the way that we saw it when, say,
we thought that everything
could be answered by a long night out
with friends . . .
or like it was during the summer nights
down by the water—out until the dawn came
and ah, yes,
it was good to be young and hopeful
or careless or maybe
we were still young enough
to be carefree
because life hadn’t picked up speed
yet.