Fragments of the recent past,
carved neatly into stone.
Summoned to a frightful task,
died in a field alone.
This one escaped the devil's den,
found peace again in life;
gently taught his family,
find goodness in your strife.
Brave young souls in peril's heart,
the conflicts that gave rise,
honor bound and duty found,
the binding love that ties.
Endeavor now to contemplate
the fear that they defeated,
their sacrifice remembered and
the horror not repeated.
They see the scars upon the wrists.
The bulging bumps raised up to twist.
They do not hear the words that ring,
Hollow but true from out your lips.
Poetry is dark and bright.
It speaks of both the day and night.
But does is speak about the truth,
Or simply show in some false light.
For those that write of their own pain.
Some others think it is just for gain.
But how does that make much sense,
To enjoy works by telling blain?
I have cut and I have torn.
The shameful mask of grief I've worn.
But I can and will not tell,
Of days I wish I were not born.
So offer not some snide sympathy.
Or think to give some chide empathy.
I care not for wha
I only wish to live
between the pages of a book,
fighting for what's right,
turn the page and take a look.
First, I'd live like Dru,
a Svetocha in full bloom,
ridding the world of suckers,
a single breath would be their doom.
Or, maybe, I'd be Rose,
a dhampir of a different sort,
kicking ass and earning marks,
shadow kissed with a quick retort.
Next, I'd live like Calla,
a Guardian leading my pack,
rewriting my own destiny,
kissing two Alphas back to back.
Of course, I'd live like Tris,
Divergent at it's best,
resisting all the serums,
passing every Dauntless test.
Then, I'd become Ender,
the smartest of them all,
playing games of war,
w
By the birds that fly their paths
Out from warmer pastures led
By home and heartfelt wantings made
From fathers to their sons to have
Waterfowl from sky land well
With practice of their wandering feet
Cool as winter waters be
But still a tender touch of swell
Home is where there are no tears
That cannot be from other griefs
And ones we cannot count are laid
To let the thorns outgrow the wreath
Feathers dirty by the air
Dust and debris fall like rain
From a wing that dips inside
A mother's embrace and warm care
Sip and dine on likened world
Where halls are walked again in peace
Lax the wind through windowsill
To pass across the eye and lau
It was 2:00am by the time
I realized you were
sleeping soundly in the
dark, and I wasn't.
By 2:30am I was
repositioned and staring
at the glow of my phone,
not at all interested in
what I was reading.
By 3:00am I decided to
quietly get up and
wander into my office
to see if something there
needed me.
By 4:00am I had written
this down and read it a few
extra times to convince
myself that the words
were all there.
By 4:15am I was
finally dreaming.
I saw you smoking
in front of the church
on Sunday
9:58 am,
and I don't know
whether service
was over,
or yet to begin
a milky haze
floating into the
a i r,
and with each
diaphanous puff,
I saw angel wings
f l y i n g
toward the heaven above
and I only wondered
if you hoped God
could save you from
your addiction,
or from whatever
the reason
you started smoking
was.
She said "I love you. Forever."
I don't know what to think.
My heart flutters as if a thousand butterflies spread their wings.
But my stomach clenches in fear and anxiety.
"Forever."
Such a horrible word.
Such a lovely word.
Both a promise and a curse.
Do I love her?
Absolutely.
Forever?
I can't know.
I hope I do.
I want to love her forever.
But I do not know if I can.
A promise.
"I love you."
Three simple words.
Made so much more complex with the addition of a fourth.
"Forever."
A glorious joyful ideal.
But is it mine?
I love her now.
I will love her tomorrow.
I will love her weeks from now.
I will love her for months to come.
But
Seconds do not feel like seconds any more
Minutes seem shorter than they did when I was young
Years pass by without much ever happening
Nothing is right but then again nothing is wrong
Maybe that could be the problem
That life’s slowly passing me by
I walk around with my shoulders arched
Like I’m afraid to even try
Yes, I’m certain that’s the problem
I’m too scared to stop asking why
Do things come so easily to others
That to me so far have been denied
The air does not feel like air any more
Each breath feels like it is racing my heartbeat
I wonder sometimes which one will prevail
The air in my lungs or th