Yours To Waste

Maybe it was that time in history where all was meant to converge or simply a stutter step in life caused by the soldier deep within which followed cadence of the dawns march and the incessant grind of a worlds parade ground.

But something always appeared to be just a second or two off,

Not quite synchronized and a moment later than was intended.

Whatever the cause, life just seemed to be a day late and a dollar short, leaving all who rejected its truth and purpose lying upon the dark muddy banks of a snake filled cypress swamp, where its waters, cried out your name.

Life comes in all shades and at times playful refractions of brightness in orange and crimson break through the distant horizon, awakening imagination within fostering souls, and an understanding that, had you grasped the kite’s tail of prosperity you might have pulled that sash bound heavy and tight lifting life’s curtain of despair, illuminating those possibilities envisioned in unencumbered childhood dreams.

Who had you hoped to be?

What was your task in this life?

Was its future a fantasy, or had you been drawn into the need for accomplishment and staked upon the hard-red clay of reality early in your journey simply conceding to the overwhelming amount of toil?

A confused fool who had dropped all he owned into the darkness of self-enclosure and pity, where fumbling to retrieve it from its resting place remained empty-handed and hidden from all who were meant to see?

Or had you become a source of transition, a whisper that would paint the world in clarity, and grand enthusiasm, looking skyward for the angels who would sing your praise, thanking your Creator for opportunities afforded which captured in jubilant delight were capitalized upon.

Was this a point where those who dreamed of grandeur, stepped forward into the light of accomplishment,

Where treasures glistening in the still waters of achievement accepted their reward humbly, and with a gracious nod of the brow.

When was that time?

Had it passed by without a sound?

Was there still light just beyond the impending darkness that could be attained if halfhearted decisions were simply altered, priorities refocused and the commitment to step up and step over misguided perceptions, pursued?

Maybe not, but then again, maybe is a big word, and reality has little to do with facts or prophesy.

That Time is yours and the time left,

Yours to waste.


Johnny Johnston
Johnny Johnston
An artist/writer as well as graduate of the University of South Carolina with degrees in journalism/20th Century American Literature, and retired senior executive of several international hotel/resort corporations, Johnny is the product of the south having been raised in the ever-changing transient lifestyle of a Carolina coastal resort. A point where he discovered, within his 300-year-old heritage and the world's dramatic social/cultural shifts during the late '60s to early 80’s an ambitious hunger and overwhelming curiosity to touch, see and become a participant in the virtually unlimited possibilities offered to those who wish for and seek life experiences. A journey which when hearing its details initially makes one a bit skeptical, questioning its validity as it is hard to imagine that incidents such as these may have crossed one man’s lifetime. This is the fodder required to step into zones exposing one's personal inner self, which many of his paintings and the words he writes do, openly. An ability to see and hear the tragic, beautiful, accomplished, exciting journey in a life free of inhibitions allowing others the opportunity to live vicariously and become, through his works, a part of its future. His larger works which have been featured in several Colorado and Fredericksburg Texas galleries and resorts have produced a number of collectors and fans. However, over the years, his paintings are mostly viewed by friends, enthusiastic new artist encountered on the streets or a small number of acquaintances he meets when dining in local cafés with his wife.

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