These tear ducts are barren, dry, and void of overflowing release.
My sleep is filled with dreams that my eyes be filled with streams.
The suffering is the easiest part.
Getting through this arid landscape is difficult, if not impossible.
The window opens to the breeze
as I smell the sweet summery air through savory trees.
How I recall the past and days of hurt.
Times I wish I could be even as high as dirt.
I wander through my own Forest of Arden,
not feeling care,
not a scare,
life in full color I dare…say.
Cobalt blue filled the sky.
Tear ducts still empty—that well, still dry.
As I’ve grown older,
the callouses of life have made me stronger,
perhaps why I can cry no longer.
If I could only wash my troubles away.
Tears, please come without delay.

What a difference a year makes.
Within one rapid revolution around the sun,
there were new people I counted upon,
and now they’re done.

New places,
new faces,
new discoveries,
as one single, solitary spring,
yielded new blooms,
as life began anew.

Friendships forged,
and favors done.
From simple basic bonds,
as fresh excitement filled my days.
Sounds of Van Morrison,
sang through endless summer nights,
but only after the summer shower.

So many conversations about life,
and the many triumphs,
tragedies and places,
from the past,
into the present,
and in between.

A new home found,
a home loved.
A home with friends,
these brothers and sisters.

On one occasion,
powerful torrents of rain,
wind and devastation,
moved up the coast,
as my family moved closer to me,
and I took care of them.

With bread broken in the darkness,
that night when the power went out,
and wine guzzled to the last drop by candlelight,
hearty toasts toasted to strong friendships,
toasts to good times,
toasts to loyalty.
What a difference a year makes.

Then the leaves fell hard,
not only on the common walkway we shared,
but upon the camaraderie,
that was forged,
and on those days,
that I thought would never end.

As temperatures dropped,
The friends grew cold too.
With all the favors done,
guidance given,
affection offered,
timelessness now became uselessness.

When the snow fell,
these flakes also scattered one-by-one.
Away they went.
Away.

Then the spring sun rose,
while that cold wind continued to blow,
through the trees that once carried,
friendship’s friendly leaves.

No more bread.
Empty bottles of wine.
As the doves scattered,
they vanished like dust,
and these friendships disappeared,
while my heart banged a broken beat.

But a lesson was taught and learned,
protect each month,
and guard each day,
because what a difference a year makes along the way.