Sirens Are Our Lullabies!

Shots ring out every night
in this city gushing blood.
And in daylight, it’s the same,
awash in a crimson flood.

Sirens are our lullabies;
a crime scene, our parade.
We stand and stare at the dead,
then into a grave, they are laid.

None of it makes any sense,
Black men killing their own kind.
And I just make excuses
as though to reality, I am blind.

I blamed it all on poverty;
a lack of jobs and single moms.
And I threw in for good measure
that so many are bearing arms.

I thought I had all the answers.
Open a store or two in the hood
that catered to the poor,
but that won’t do us any good.

What is needed, I don’t know.
I throw my hands up in the air.
Our murder rate is off the charts.
And it would seem that we don’t care.

Another day, another murder.
And sometimes, more than one.
We’re just mowing each other down,
and hell, there ain’t nowhere to run.

More babies without fathers,
more mothers without their sons
because we have lost our minds,
 when to solve our problems, we use guns.

Written by,
Shelby I. Courtland
©2017 Shelby I. Courtland

‘Did you hear that?’: Amid Baltimore’s surge in killings, a faint cry in a locked car

BALTIMORE — No one saw the baby.

She sat in a gold-hued car with tinted black windows as her 26-year-old father lay on the ground outside, dying.

All eyes were on him, another fallen body in a city increasingly defined by them.

In portions of Baltimore, the strobe of police cars is as much a part of the landscape as boarded-up homes. But the pace of the killings this year has been stunning as the city struggles to recover from rioting in 2015. As of Friday, 124 people had been slain, including five on a recent day, making Baltimore’s homicide rate one of the highest in the country. It is more than triple Washington’s rate and higher than the homicide rates in New Orleans and Chicago, two places that have become national symbols of gun violence.

I came to this city, not with expectations of having everlasting fun, but with the hope that there was something I could do to help in a city that claimed my heart over a decade ago. And now, I am beyond frustrated. If I told you all that has happened to me since I’ve been here, you’d all wonder why I have not thrown myself into the nearest psych ward and wrapped my own ass in a wrap-around jacket. I have been carjacked, almost robbed at gun point on a city bus, my cousin was shot two months after arriving here and I am terrified to leave my own neighborhood. I am already preparing to leave this city. I have not seen anything like this. I guess when I was here before, I was young and fearless, but now that I am older and damn near completely incapacitated thanks to injuries, I look at things differently and I am absolutely horrified at what I see. This city is off the chain. I ask myself all the time, “What was I thinking?” And if you read the article, a statement by a former Baltimore planning director tells it all.

“People don’t realize it’s worse than Chicago,” said Otis Rolley, former Baltimore planning director and a onetime mayoral candidate. His 23-year-old nephew, Andrew Zachary, a former Marine, was the 15th person killed in the city this year. “This man was trained by the U.S. government and had the skills and ability to survive in a combat situation overseas but was unable to navigate the streets of Baltimore. And that is a scary, scary thing.”

There is no need to suit up and head to Iraq or Afghanistan to see some combat action, just come to Baltimore. You’ll get more ‘action’ than you bargained for, believe me! Baltimore is a warzone! Helicopters fly overhead, non-stop. Sirens are non-stop. It is not even safe to take public transit. It is not safe to drive. It is not safe to walk down the street. It is not safe to peep out your window. For the love of !!!!!

It’s Been Four Years

You were mother’s favorite from the day you were born
and then from her arms, thanks to crack, you were torn.
I was jealous of you since I thought you had it all.
You were so smart and so beautiful; a Cinderella at the ball.

In your band uniform and with your saxophone ready
you marched out on that field amidst loud cheers and confetti.
Voted ‘gold brick’ girl, your sense of humor stole the show.
You were brilliant at everything until to crack, you couldn’t say, “No!”

It shortened your beautiful life and destroyed who you were.
After you became addicted, the rest of your life was just a blur.
You stole and you lied and we did not know what to do.
Your family threw their hands up, we all gave up on you.

Four years you’ve been gone and how the time did fly.
And I never got the chance to say to you, “Goodbye!”
I hear the mournful wail of a saxophone playing.
It would be from you if I could bring you back by praying!

Written by,
Shelby I. Courtland
©2017 Shelby I. Courtland

I cannot believe that it’s been another year since my sister’s death on May 6, 2013. For those of you who are new to this blog, my sister died from a crack overdose.
She was the most talented and beautiful person I’ve ever known. I sit here, writing this, with tears streaming down my face because my sister had it all except for the ability to give up the crack pipe. I have never known anyone who had her smarts. There was nothing she could not do except get off crack. And I just don’t understand nor can I seem to accept how someone who was as brilliant as she was is dead from crack. Her brain was a computer. I’ve said this before and I say it again, there was no mathematical equation or computation that she couldn’t do as fast as a computer. She never had to open a book; she just knew the answers and even her college roommate was jealous of her because my sister never opened a book and yet aced every exam. Walked out of the classroom a few minutes after entering it with her exam completed. She excelled at music, cooking, math, history, English, art; everything! But crack was her Achilles heel. Beside her, my other sister and myself are kindergarten rejects and I wish I was kidding. She never married, had no children, was the youngest and yet, she is dead!

My sister, I mourn you still!!

We Are Voiceless!

I threw myself into the fray.
I said, “I will persevere, come what may.”
Little did I know that I was to throw in the towel
so soon as I exit this stage with a scowl.

I added my voice to the billions who yearn
for a change to take place, but we never learn.
We are voiceless in the midst of this screaming crowd,
speaking to no one though our voices are loud.

Oh, how little and insignificant we are,
though we hate to admit this truth by far.
I talk at you while you talk back at me,
and nothing gets done in this virtuality.

I am part of a chorus that will never be heard.
I exit this stage, distance myself from the herd.
What language I speak, gets lost in translation.
 And with that being said, I tender my resignation.

I never had anything of significance to say.
And so into my pillow, at night I shall bray.
It will do just as well as what is said to you now.
We’re all preaching to the choir and it don’t matter no how.

Written by,
Shelby I. Courtland
©2017 Shelby I. Courtland

I wrote this poem because a fellow blogger I used to ‘follow’ decided that he was not doing anything of significance by blogging and that he was only adding to the problem. I, myself, have felt this way so often, there are poems to that effect all over this blog. When I first started blogging, I was full of inspiration and enthusiasm because I was mostly blogging to bring awareness of those who are also voiceless; the homeless. I thought I had something of significance to say and I also thought, “Oh what the hell? I shall add my voice to countless other voices out there!” But I also  wonder, “What is it all for?” Am I wasting my time? Yes, I’m pretty much wasting my time. Although, I will admit that I have learned a few things from blogging. I have also taken away from it, that people can often be close-minded, uninformed or simply misinformed and even outright stubborn and stuck in their ways. By reading the stories of others, I have in essence, changed in some ways and in other ways, I don’t think I ever will. It is human nature, I guess to want to be right and to also not want to believe that you could be wrong and that because you could be wrong, that maybe you should take a look deep into why you think you could be wrong and either rationalize it or consider that you are not as open-minded as you would like to believe you are; that you are not as willing to accept people for who and what they are as you think you are. I have condemned people based solely on my own narrow way of thinking and that is wrong. I was taught that unless a person does something to hurt me personally, I have no right to judge that person by my so-called moral code or to hold them up to what I deem to be right and good and decent and cut them down for not thinking or living the way I do.

There is much that I can work on and I intend to. But I would also like to think that through this blog, I have given folks an inkling into what makes me, me. And that good or bad, I try in many ways to become a better person. Will I succeed? I can but try.

War Never Takes A Holiday

Another government shutdown looms
and with it clouds of mushroom plumes.
Can you smell the toxic fumes
that reek of death, mankind it dooms?

Bombs away! Look lively there!
Behold the rocket’s bright red glare,
as soldiers stand, salute and stare,
no thought for a mother or child she’d bear.

Duty calls and they obey.
War never takes a holiday.
My child, your child; both will pay
for peace will always to war, give way.

And though we think we are immune
here at home, war will come soon.
You’ll pay the piper for this tune.
No Star Spangled Banner will you croon.

Written by,
Shelby I. Courtland
©2017 Shelby I. Courtland

Here in the land of the stupid and the brain dead, and it should go without saying that I am speaking of America, we go about our business as usual. Government shutdowns are threatened as congress plays the same tired old game of supposedly shutting down a government that doesn’t work anyway. So what’s to shut down? I don’t know because nothing that is ever good comes out of the halls of congress or the White House. And inside both chambers sits the useless, the deranged and the greedy bastards who are owned; lock stock and barrel by the very corporations that also run our lives. We have certainly given up on any pretense that we have a say over any aspect of our lives. What we eat is owned by nine corporations. What entertainment we still thirst for is owned by a handful of corporations who feed us what we see and hear.

I read just the other day that Trump’s poll numbers soared after he gave the order to launch 59 missiles at Syria and when he also ordered the MOAB(Mother Of All Bombs)to be dropped on Afghanistan. And now, we anxiously await his orders to drop bombs on North Korea. Well, just sit back and think that this will have no impact on US and you’re in for a rude awakening. Regardless of whether or not you think that Kim Jong Un is crazy has no relevance on what is going down. Donald Trump is just as crazy and yet, this nutcase has his finger on the ‘red boom-boom’ button. The war chickens are coming home to roost up your ass, AmeriKKKans and I sure hope you like it hot; hot and funky ’cause you’re going to smell the fallout from your living rooms and from your spa hideaways and your luxurious hotel suites. The claim is that when you fly for 7 hours, you are subjected to what amounts to an x-ray. Well, that’ll be the least of your worries, but then you’ve never considered how much radiation you’re subjecting your body to when before you are even allowed to board a plane, you must first be radiated and those of you who are frequent flyers, well…let’s just say that you are already a cancer ticking time bomb. But no worries for you because just as soon as your son and your husband, cousin, father, brother and nephew start sending nuclear missiles to North Korea, you can thank them for what they’re about to set off up your ass because you’ve been lucky thus far but your luck is about to run out. And about time, I’d say.

So, you thank Donald Trump, you damn warmongers for killing your ass via your own sons and husbands, but the last thing you will be applauding is Trump’s rising poll numbers as you watch AmeriKKKa get what she has so long been begging for, war at our front door! I’m placing big bets on this and my money is backing Kim Jong Un! Bring it!

War, The Birth Of Death!

I was born old with the sounds of war
roaring through my head
and of scenes depicting
the fact that I am dead.

I am as old as war,
never to know peace
only sorrow, pain
and a cease fire that will not cease.

Brought forth in death
by man’s insatiable desire
to kill for profit and for pain
and war is my sire.

Though I may not have lines
or wrinkles on my forehead
nevertheless, I am old,
too old to live and so I die, instead.

War, the birth of death;
 for youth is drained and tired
but must fight to die;
as war’s bitter taste is acquired.

Written by,
Shelby I. Courtland
©2017 Shelby I. Courtland

And so it goes, our children are born but why? They are born, dead for their bodies are mere pawns in wars, moved here and there on the chessboard of war, driven to war by war hawks and warmongers whose children grow rich and fat off the sacrifices of our children who are bred for their wars. We willingly give our children to be adopted by the warmongers and then we host parades praising them for taking our children and making them dead and/or old beyond their years. The voices in their heads, never leaving them even if they leave the battlefield and if they come back to us, it is in name only, for they are already dead since war is the birth of death.

An Ice Cream Truck

Just before the sun went down,
I heard the jingle from an ice cream truck.
Here, it is business as usual,
but in Afghanistan, a bomb just struck.

Tomorrow, the ice cream truck
will make its way down my tree-lined street.
But over in bomb-struck Syria,
little children have no bread to eat.

The next day, the ice cream truck
will once again offer cold, creamy treats
while we wait to hear from Donald Trump
about North Korea via his stupid tweets.

Another day, another ice cream truck;
an absurdity in a world at war.
 It would seem to be quite laughable,
but I just cry til I can’t no more.

I’d send you an ice cream truck,
if I thought it would do you any good,
but when you’re fleeing a war torn land
there’s only debris where homes once stood.

One day, that ice cream truck
will drive down my street no more.
We’ll have killed those across the sea
and on our own, we will then wage war.

That day will surely come,
since war is all we know.
And though we killed you first,
where you went, we too shall go.

So to those who lust for war,
and who gloat over all we’ve killed,
the treats in an ice cream truck
are not as cold as your heart so chilled.

Written by,
Shelby I. Courtland
©2017 Shelby I. Courtland

At around 8:00pm, the ice cream truck jingles its way down my street and I look out down the street and the children are gathering in front of it with their money in hand which they exchange for cold, creamy treats. I cannot help but think of the children in Syria, Afghanistan, Iraq, Libya and Yemen who have been killed by bombs dropped on them by our government via the U.S. military. I cannot wrap my head around the fact that soldiers, who have children, can send missiles to foreign lands knowing that there is no way to hit only fixed targets since we all know that ‘collateral damage’ is inevitable in military operations and that they are killing children while expecting only ‘ice cream truck’ experiences for their own. Their children are never to be ‘collateral damage’, otherwise known as the unintended casualties of war. I am sure that the ‘unintended casualties’ of war are most glad to know that they were mortally wounded, accidental like by America’s soldiers who want only ice cream truck encounters for their children. I am sure that those who were blown to bits died knowing that they were just in the way; in the wrong place at the wrong time. There will be no ice cream truck rolling down the street offering them cold, creamy treats; just body bags for those who are more than just bits and pieces.

But here in America, the ice cream trucks are still rolling down our streets, inviting our children to come and pick their favorite cold treat and go happily back to their yards to play while those in Syria, Afghanistan, Iraq, Libya and Yemen are praying that the bombing will stop, wishing that they still had homes to go to, trying to remember what it felt like to play and certainly are not hearing the jingle of an ice cream truck as it makes its way down a tree-lined street on a quiet evening inviting them to partake of its cold delights.

I am going to keep this one civil even though I am seething and ready to spontaneously combust over the fact that all is quiet here and there is only the echo of the jingle from an ice cream truck and I cannot know or appreciate the hell that those in foreign lands are being put through thanks to those who are hell bent on making it a fact that this world will never know peace. Oh, the absurdity of an ice cream truck!

Bomb This Hellhole To Bits!

Not one American was gassed
And so America bombed Syria because..
 Well, these things just should not be done.
After all, there are international laws.

What applies to America is unique.
There are none so exceptional as we
who were not gassed by no terrorists we trained,
but we still bombed a foreign country.

Some things just make no sense at all.
America refused Syria’s refugees
who were escaping a war torn land
brought on by our own tragedies.

Now let’s turn this all around.
Did America not gas the Iraqis?
And it was okay when we gassed the Vietnamese
and then say, “We are better than the Nazis.”

Tell that to the dead Vietnamese.
 Or have you forgotten all about Napalm?
Our selective amnesia is telling
when we can forget about a Napalm bomb.

White phosphorous, the Iraqis will never forget.
How can they when we are still there?
We bombed them over a big ass lie
since those WMDs are where?

Hiroshima and Nagasaki were cities
bombed by the US of A.
How many people did we kill?
And we still think that was okay!

We are all American dogs
who drool and piss and shit
on a planet of people at will
and we all deserve a direct hit!

So China, Iran and North Korea,
Russia and even Bangladesh
bomb this hellhole to bits!
Maybe this world can then start, afresh!

Written by,
Shelby I. Courtland
©2017 Shelby I. Courtland

Unfortunately, I shall not get my wish that Russia, Iran, North Korea and China will blow this hellhole to kingdom come, but I can still keep hope alive.

So, Donald Trump has initiated what amounts to déjà vu because didn’t we go over this already about Assad using sarin gas during Obama’s reign? And what happened? It was found that the Assad government did not gas their own people, the rebels that America’s CIA trained did that, but even so, Russia stepped in and helped to broker a deal that relieved the Assad government of any chemical weapons it may have had and yet, here we are again. Donald Trump is just so disturbed at the thought of little children getting gassed that he just could not contain himself and so sent 59 missiles to do what? Kill more innocent little children? Because that is what happened, isn’t it? Civilians were killed by those U.S. missiles and so where is the outrage from Trump about that?

That no good bastard is not even outraged that the U. S. Department of Justice issued a scathing report on Baltimore’s police force due to the fact of rampant and systemic excessive use of force and police brutality against a majority Black city. In fact, Attorney General, Jeff Sessions stated that, “the consent decree would keep the KKKops from doing their job of continuing to brutalize, racial profile and fuck up Black folks on a regular basis just ’cause they should!”

And here we have all these pasty-faced motherfuckers just declaring how horrid it is for Assad to gas his own people when these same pasty-faced assholes would rather see me dead just because my skin tone is dark. Don’t that fucking beat all? Talk about this shithole drowning in hypocrisy, America is the very definition of hypocrisy from one end of this cesspool of corruption to the other. And here we sit, biting our nails and hoping there’s to be no draft. My post titled, “The Draft Is Being Reinstituted On January 1st, 2016! is the number one post because you scared ass pieces of whiny assed exceptionally brain dead cretins are shaking in your cowboy boots and wife beaters over the possibility of you having to get up off your fat ass and get it handed to you by the Russians and the Chinese. You don’t have to worry about being drafted because you’re fucking useless, what with a needle stuck in your damn arm loaded with heroin and who knows what the hell else. Your fat ass can’t even fit in the cockpit of a fighter jet because you’re too damn lazy to even get up off the couch and turn the channel on the TV. The only thing you’re good for is nothing! Ain’t no use for you whatsoever. So quite actually, if a bomb was to land squarely in your fucking living room, it’d be doing you a favor by sending you to meet your fairytale maker sitting up in the sky waiting to receive your worthless ass, or so says your slimy piece of shit reverend; the snake oil selling bastard! Yeah, a bomb would quite actually be good for you because it’d put you out of your sorry ass misery. I wish they would send a bomb up the ass of every single piece of American filth and think I don’t mean that, you sorry ass filthy fuckers!

I Remember……

I remember a time when we liked someone,
we told them so to their face.
Nowadays, we ‘like’ someone on Facebook
since we will never, ever go over to their place.

I remember when children played outside
until the street lights came on.
Nowadays, the streets are empty
because our children have a smartphone.

I remember when you met the one you love
while squeezing fruit in a grocery store.
Nowadays, you sign up for a dating site
and wait to get a compatibility score.

I remember when there was no obesity epidemic
because healthy meals were cooked at home.
Nowadays, mom and dad are working late
and so the kids have come down with ‘McDonalds and Burger King syndrome’.

I remember when bicycles and hula hoops were all the rage
and children swam, played kickball and jumped rope.
Nowadays, our children are sexting and texting
and are missing or failing in school and on dope.

I remember when I did not have to be nostalgic for the good ole days
because the good ole days were the days I grew up in.
Nowadays, I look around and I cry and I don’t know who for,
for me or for those whose life is about to begin?

Written by,
Shelby I. Courtland
©2017 Shelby I. Courtland

I cry for me! I take a look around and I can only shake my head and sigh over how far we have come the wrong way. Technology will be the death of us and we refuse to see it. This is why I don’t blog much anymore. I am out trying to ‘live’ as opposed to being caught up in this ‘virtual’ reality. For decades, I managed to live without smartphones, laptops, PCs, Wi-Fi hotspots, microwave ovens, Wii, HDTVs and the like and I was all the better for it. I lived simply and did not covet everything I saw and again, I was all the better for it. Our values, morals, decency and principles flew out the window, decades ago when we hardened our hearts and turned to spewing hate at each other through these devices that we think we can’t live without. I bet most of you cannot even turn your laptop or your smartphone off for 24 hours. You just can’t do it. What does that say for you? Not much, I’m afraid. Do you know how much of your life you’ve given over to these devices? You say, “I’m going to take a road trip and get away from it all!” And yet, what do you do, you film the whole thing as it’s happening and either live stream it or post the whole thing on Facebook and ask for ‘likes’. You’re the only one who needs to ‘like’ it. Can’t let go of these devices even when you claim you are stepping away from it all. How sad is that?

For those of you who were alive before the internet was ‘born’ and before smartphones became all the rage, did you feel that you were missing something? Did you take trips and do you have mementos of those trips? Sure you do and you waited until you got back, took the film to the store and had it developed and now it is in a family album. My mother has family albums full of pictures of all the things we did. And we managed to get pictures of ourselves without the need of a ‘selfie’ stick. Imagine that! We are all a bunch of sad ass wimps because we are nothing like the people who have mostly passed on. They were the lucky ones because they never had to see this foolishness; this utter stupidity that we relish and spread. And we have the nerve to think that we are more advanced when we have done nothing more than embrace our own demise. Tell me. How healthy are you? You can’t be all that healthy when all you do is sit somewhere facing a computer at work and at home and en route. No one was causing an accident because they were busy texting. Did you hear of the horrible bus/truck crash in Texas? The driver of the truck is reported to have been texting while driving and caused the death of thirteen innocent people coming from a church retreat. Like I said, so-called ‘technology’ will be the death of us and so it was for those thirteen innocent people killed on a Texas road. I was a victim of a texting driver and I am still suffering tremendously and all she got was a $150 fine for failure to drive with due care. What will this 20-year old get for killing thirteen innocent people? A bigger fine? He says he’s sorry. Yep! That’ll bring those folks back to life and give them back to their loved ones. For the love of!!!!!

Witness: Driver in crash admitted texting before collision that killed 13

HOUSTON (AP) — The driver of a pickup truck that collided with a church minibus in rural Texas, killing 13 people, apologized after the crash and acknowledged he had been texting while driving, a witness said Friday.

Jody Kuchler told The Associated Press he was driving behind the truck and had seen it moving erratically prior to the Wednesday collision on a two-lane road about 75 miles west of San Antonio, near the town of Concan. Kuchler said the truck had crossed the center line several times while he followed it.

“He said, ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I was texting.’ I said, ‘Son, do you know what you just did?’ He said, ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry,’” Kuchler recalled.

He’s sorry? We’re ALL sorry and getting sorrier by the minute!

And ‘They’ Say, “Beauty Is More Than Skin Deep!”

For The Beautiful Dark Ones!

Do not hate your beautiful dark skin tone,
for it is all the rage at the white man’s beach.
You see, he has to risk skin cancer and wrinkles
to get what some of you want to bleach.

You can go outside, be it winter or summer
and never think in a million years of getting burned.
But you see, the white man must hide from the sun
and this lesson is one he has never, ever learned.

In the waiting rooms of Dermatology, there they sit,
with moles that have turned on skin that’s fried.
And never will they let go of tanning beds and beaches,
not until skin cancer is the cause of why they died.

Written by,
Shelby I. Courtland
©2017 Shelby I. Courtland

The woman in the above picture would like some of you to know that “The sun is not your friend!” And I think we all know to whom she is speaking when referring to the sun not being your friend. She most definitely was not talking to me since the sun has always been my friend. It’s where I get my Vitamin D; the healthy way. Now, let’s find out why she wants some of you to know that the sun is not your friend.

‘The sun is not your friend’: Woman’s painful tan warning goes viral

A 45-year-old mom hopes sharing photos of her painful treatment for precancerous lesions will serve as a warning to others.

Margaret Murphy frets that the world is seeing her at her worst, but that’s exactly the point of her warning about the dangers of tanning.

Murphy spent more than a decade living on Crete and tanning herself to “look good,” she writes on her Facebook page. She also spent summers “doing sunbeds” to get a tan in the less-sunny Irish climate. Sunscreen was not a priority.

Oh damn! I’ve never been in a ‘tanning bed’. My beautiful tan is natural. It never fades and I don’t turn pale in the winter and in the summer, my permanent tan automatically deepens while I am out for my daily constitutional and not only that, but I can go anywhere and I am tanned. And it’s free! Can ya believe it? I pay nothing for a gorgeous, year-long tan that stays with me, year after year after year.

But I must say that when I pass by a Dermatology clinic, I have yet to see a Black person sitting all up in there wondering about that suspicious mole on their face. I just cannot comprehend how people who hate us for the color of our skin, will go to such lengths to get our skin tone even when it means, death. Oh well, let the woman in the above picture be a lesson for you to learn; those of you who need to learn it, that is.

The most natural way to get vitamin D is by exposing your bare skin to sunlight (ultraviolet B rays). This can happen very quickly, particularly in the summer. You don’t need to tan or burn your skin to get vitamin D. You only need to expose your skin for around half the time it takes for your skin to turn pink and begin to burn.

No worries here, I don’t belong in the ‘pink’ skin club. And for some of you, consider this post, a Public Service Announcement. Aren’t I ever the helpful one?

Break Fee!

break the chains

For something in me was just never satisfied.
I would sit on the porch and stare at the mountains,
convinced that there was something, something calling to me,
beseeching me to “Come, come and drink from overflowing fountains!”

There is another world out there beyond the tall green mountain trees.
No telling what destiny will find for you to do if only you will wander,
wander away from the safety of boredom and the mundane,
and fling yourself into timelessness that only youth can squander.

And so I fled, I fled from the stagnation and strangulation of my nine to five;
and I lived, I lived as only the truly free can live, free from the bonds of society,
free to make my own rules and for this I was punished, held accountable.
 For those who wield the whip will never let the slave break free from his chains of slavery!

Written by,
Shelby I. Courtland
©2017 Shelby I. Courtland

Each day, we are reminded in many different ways that life is just too short. We hear of a loved one who is seriously ill. We hear of horrors occurring daily to others in our neighborhoods and around the world and yet, each day, we go to the daily grind so that we can afford to go ‘home’ and what….’live’? Ask yourself this question, “What does it mean to ‘live’? I don’t mean to suck in air and release it. Are you doing what you truly love or are you doing what you NEED to do just to survive? Are you just going to work so that you can keep up the payments on that house and car and maybe, at the end of the week, you can sit down and have a beer and consider yourself lucky? Is this all you want out  of, dare I say, ‘life’? Is this all there is to ‘life’? Working to make someone more money while you give that same person the money that you ‘earn’ so that you can keep a roof over your head and sit in hours of traffic and think and dream about what it would be like if you could do just what the hell you want? We are all stifled and oppressed by what we have allowed. We have allowed others to tell us how to ‘live’ and if our doctor ever gives us the ‘bad’ news that it’s almost over for us, the only reason we kick up a fuss is because it is expected of us and because we fear the unknown.

Life is to be lived, not merely gotten through. Think about it. Are you living life or are you just waiting until your number is up? And when it is, will you smile and say, “At least I lived,” or will you say, “Damn, in a few more years, I promised myself that I was going to live!” Think about it. Live your life, don’t just go through the motions!