John Patrick Robbins writes

Always Keep Moving

I had traveled many miles collecting scars like memories along the way.

I buried more people than I cared to recall.

I drank to forget.

It never worked.

Along my journey somehow I found my place on the page.

A few people connected they were probably half insane like myself.

Along this road a few wrote me.

Many were full of shit.

But one was more persistent than the others.

He was a young kid.
He wanted to write they all did, but this one didn't act like the others.

I wrote him back he acted as though the skies had opened up.
I was a hero that no longer was inhuman.

He cracked me up.
He was greener than a glade of grass.

I kept drinking, he kept writing.
The years passed I grew to call him a friend.

He was the little brother I never had,
And I the half insane writer whose stories inspired him to craft ones of his own.

I told him the secrets of writing a good page and told him the truth of the emptiness it left inside.

"Kid whatever you do don't be a writer "
I told him one day as we spoke as often we did on the phone.

He laughed I knew he wouldn't listen.
If you were meant to be anything in this life you never cave in.

Looks like my words had led another fine young mind astray.

My little brother saw the highway and wanted to taste the dust to understand the pain.

I felt bad for inspiring the passion.

And hoped to hell he didn't know the pain, as I  had before him.

But sometimes you just got to find hell to know it's there.

I wish you luck kid.

Never slow down and always keep moving is the only advice I have for you.

Shit won't be easy.
But then again when it’s your choice you can't blame anyone but yourself.

I tried to warn you.

Sincerely.

Your big brother

 

L'Inspiration du poète -- Nicolas Poussin