Adam kicked the soccer ball to the front of the house. Sam watched him chase after it, while she sipped her sweet tea. The sound of his feet stopped and was replaced with car tires driving through the gravel road. She stood up and walked down the steps to see who had come. Adam cut her off before she made it around the corner of the house.
Panting and out of breath, he gasped, “Mommy…Daddy’s home.”
Sam stared at Adam, letting those two words sink in. Adam turned around and started running back. She stood there for a moment and then took after her son. Thoughts were flooding her mind. When she hugged him one last time before he left, him walking towards the plane, the letters coming home every week, his arms wrapped around her, and the sounds of him and Adam playing football in the afternoon.
Her pace slowed when she arrived to the front of the house. Cameron’s grey truck turned off followed by another black car tuning its engine off. Cameron hopped out of the truck and looked over at her with sorrowed filled eyes. Adam ran up and gave him hug, but Cameron’s eyes never left hers.
A Marines officer walked up to Sam with letters in his hands. Her heart started beating faster and could feel a hole beginning to form in her stomach. Please…Please, don’t tell me he’s gone. Please be a mistake, she closed her eyes and thought.
Ma’am, are you Sam Chesterfield?” the officer asked.
She opened her eyes and forced a whisper, “Yes.”
“Mrs. Chesterfield, I am sorry to inform you that your husband has died in combat. He gave me this letter to give to you. Here is another letter from the Department of
Defense about the funeral if you have any questions. You have my deepest condolences, Daniel was an honorable man,” he placed his hand on her shoulder and walked away.
As he climbed into his car, Sam broke down. She feel to her knees, letting her vision get blurry. Cameron ran over and wrapped his arms around her, trying to calm her down. Adam walked over and took his mother’s hand.
“Mommy…is Daddy coming home?”
Sam looked up at him. She saw so much of Daniel in him. Before she could answer, Cameron responded, “Your dad…well he went somewhere where he can get better.”
Adam just nodded. “Sweetie, why don’t you and Cameron go inside. I need to take care of some things,” she sputtered out.
As they went inside, she stared at the white envelope with her name scribbled on the front of it. She slowly opened it and began to read,
My Dearest Samantha,
If you are reading this, you already know that I am not coming home. I could not know or describe the pain that you are going through right. When Adam has asked what has become of me, tell him the truth. Let him know that his father died a hero and that I loved him very much. I already asked Cameron to look after you and Adam, and he has promised.
Sam, please do not grieve my death for the rest of your life. Smile and remember the good times. Our wedding day, the first day we met, how we fell in love. Remember all of that; watch the tapes to see my face again. I will always love you and be with you, no matter what. I know that it may be hard at first on your own, but you are a strong woman and can do it. You and Adam are my life’s love and happiness. I will always be with you two in heart.
There is another letter in here for Adam to read. I want you to give it to him when you think he is ready to read it.
I love you with all of my heart.
Colour me in and erase all doubts
That we're not living the life we ought to be.
Thoughts from a mind full of longing
Have suddenly been subdued,
I forgive you for not loving me.
My mind has been settled.
I am finding peace.
Peace within myself,
That i had hidden for years.
But now. rises to the surface,
Emerging once more in your shadow.
A snow storm passed my soul
lessn the suffering
Others dying its sad isn't it
My hopes crashing
My thoughts colliding
Different faces same words
Different places same voice
Teenager coming through
Won't please you but I got to do what I got to do
A snow storm passed my soul
To End the suffering
Act like you don't see whats happening
Its a cold world isn't it
And God loves a believer
But the devil is a creeper
Caught in a snow strom
Time stoped for me
But the world keeps going round
Spinning without a sound
Robed from idols
Loving the disasters
Some are playing roles of a master
Denying the bad side
Freezing my inside
Its nice isn't it
This place used to be different
It used to be comfortable and warm
Familiar and safe
But now when I look around
All i see is judgement and dismal
It can be hard to stand tall with everyone's harsh words and thoughts all piling onto your back
All i can do is wonder
When will people start to open up their eyes?
I think I will always be this way
Drowning in my own mind
The waves that pull me in are sometimes calm and soothing
But sometimes they are cold and intense
I think my thoughts will always be dragging me under
I hardly ever surface to breath
My head is always full of the scattered pieces
And I've been trying to put them together
I don't know if this is a blessing or a burden
the breaking of bones.
stabbed me in the back,
and i cried, "fuck you."
kicked me behind the knees,
then pushed my face
into the dirt,
and i thrashed
until i could thrash no more.
i became sullen.
so i climbed into a spaceship
through the earth's atmosphere.
w e i g h t l e s s
i felt beautiful.
i could see the whole,
and it made sense.
i felt the relativity
of unfocused thoughts
the importance of calm
of simple togetherness
the pressure of time
the shortening of days
and then i fell,
plunging to the earth
to break my bones.
movement made slow
just when the sun shone
in fear, in pain.
but wanting no one
(please just leave me alone)
i'll live in my fictions
i'll grit my teeth through the pain
and keep moving
i won't allow tears
until at least one foot is out the door
i'll play songs on repeat,
and subsist on cocoa krispies if i want to
i'll draw cells
and i'll write and i'll write
liberated and disillusioned
liberated and lonely
liberated and in pain
liberated and in fear
liberated and frustrated
liberated in chocolate
liberated in red wine.
I wish I could walk through the door.
I want to be on the other side.
They tell me to get off the floor.
I want to pass through and hide,
pass through the door of death.
I can smell the scent of the different rooms.
I can’t wait to feel the betrayal of the fumes.
I wish this bottle would get me higher,
higher to that lowest point.
For this inverse plan of disaster,
I shall begin to master.
why would you come to me?
Thinking much to fast,
and writing blood songs of the past,
as I stare at the scars on my wrist,
I begin to wonder,
was there something I missed?
Perhaps it was a cold deep purple sky,
more detached than that haunting smile in your eye.
Maybe it was two diffractions of symmetry.
For when the memory is possessed,
by an unknown passion of the gods’ eyes,
we will suddenly see softer tides.
I lie beneath the neon lights of the crosses and other anti figures,
dressed in blank stares with no air.
With closed minds,
they replenish and indulge their feedings on our lost soul,
and for them, it never seems to take a toll.
You gave me the words that were never there.
Today is a strange day.
As I watch the wealthy play,
I also see the children pray.
Oh a strange day.
I could see your lonely face looking back at me,
in the rear window of your parent’s Buick.
Your tears staggered down the dirty windows.
Drifting away, parting ways,
my thoughts always bring me to the sad days,
lingering intricate as a drawn out tragedy play.
You are a memory,
so vivid and extract,
quite detailed and exact.
Why did you come to me?
It's four o'clock in the morning
The only reason I am awake is because my brain thinks that in these few hours..when the rest of the world seems asleep..it will find my heart
When no one is around, when the whispers of our generation decease, and when I can peacefully sort out lost thoughts, I think it secretly hopes my heart will come back home and never leave again
An analogy of the sort, when referring to a missing child or animal
Of course in a more sentimental manner, but the point is not hidden
Soul of black folk Trevon Martin and Emmett till..
A image of the worlds ills
There's a different between mans n Gods will..
The physician has stethoscope now breathe Yes the worlds ill
A deviant of society words that the deaf can feel..
The difference in a person defines whats real..
Oh yeah cotton fields
In a dressing room being asked how my jeans of cotton feel..
I don't know cause my genes are imprinted
Reaction to fashion..
How corrupt are these thoughts of blackness that have us branded..
Called to be continents of Christ but island mindsets have us stranded..
Like how u white and you talk black..or how you black and you talk white..
There's no discrimination to ignorance Just like Gods sight..
Yet a clear division he judges the heart its darks and its lights.
He sprinkled his people the salt on earth.
Eat dirt the earth lacks flavor
Transformed to salt
We should not conform to dirt..
Express food I wonder if God taste buds hurt..
Chefs cooking lukewarm dishes..
Serving Jesus as he spits the food out.
Now he raging through the kitchen....
Looking for the ingredients like this is not the recipe..
Where is the complex simplicity ..
No surprise that there's sickness due to obesity...
A melting pot stirred my God blends together...
He makes us all the same feather..
Once realized we can fly together..
Wings strong enough to fly through any weather..
Fly higher than Satan's paws that filthy jungle cat...
Yet some still want to perch on his back..
A bird singing but can't see the bars on the Cage..
Try to escape and hit the bars which causes flight to disengage..
Racism damages the wings..
Hate damages the wings..
Why does a cage bird sing....
Well I don't think Its a song its a scream..
Because if you pay attention the pitch changes once freed..
That same sound harmonizes with the breeze..
A wonderful song heard through the trees
As trees we should be deeply rooted in Christ..
In Faith not flesh that's why the forest is a mess..
Like a tree planted next to a oil spill or nuclear reactor..
And some radiation has disturbed the soil..
Fruit spring up already spoiled..
And I think of the seedlings..
Without proper cultivation grow up to be weaklings..
Jesus is the gardener prepared to work a miraculous healing..
But he only heals if your willing
Church never stops whether in or outside of the building..
out of the cracks of her chapped lips
poured out the slow stream of scalding coffee
and all her thoughts that she could not
put on paper.
and I longed to kiss her,
to taste her favourite colour
to feel her thoughts touch my lip
(all the things she would not -could not- tell me)
to let her know that she is not leaking -
she is just overflowing.