We all paint our lives.
The mountains of challenges,
The rivers of tears,
The waterfalls of joy.

We mix the colours of sorrow and laughter
And add the colours of experience and the years that passed.
The souls we will always remember
And the moments we will never forget.

i have a hard time remembering
much of our time together.

we were so young,
so foolish.

i only remember the feelings.

i was a hot night,
right before nightfall when the fireflies
did flips in the trees and between blades of grass.
i was the bubbling tar of the street
beneath my skateboard,
the air suffocating everything
but my ability to see what was in front of me,
i was the Fourth of July.
i was the last sparkler in a box,
just waiting to be used,
left behind and forgotten.

but you-
oh, you were the sun
setting behind the trees.
you were the one
that made the fireflies decide to play,
the one
that convinced everyone you were on top,
the one
that could make the Earth explode,
if you really wanted to.
you were an honor,
not a right.
you were
my match to
make me sparkle
my introduction,
my sunrise.

i had to beg the sun to rise
every morning.
i shouldn't have had to do that.
the sun is supposed to rise,
but my sun would not.

i cannot even remember that year.
i remember having fun,
i remember smiling,
but i also remember the tears
and the depression
and the pain
and the scars
that may never heal.

i remember how you looked at me
then down,
then back up,
with this disappointment i had never seen,
and i knew i had blown it.
you couldn't handle me,
i couldn't handle you.

you told me you'd never love me
"like that"
and you were right.

now i see you daily.

i haven't made eye contact with you in almost four years.

there's not much i remember,
but i remember the pain,
and
i
remember
the
tears.

the sun hasn't shone for me
in such a long time,
but you were never the only sun,
and you were never the last.

you were just the one
that never rose
to the challenge.

when I turned eighteen
sadness filled my cups,
for carefree was now gone,
laying side by side
with all my companion figurines,
off to rest in a boy's toy chest
in a backyard cemetery hid,
certainty assured
all that I was, so far,
all that I will be,
uncalming coming forevermore,
unwilling borne upon
the newly time redesigned,
heavy load shoulders of adult responsibility

when I turned thirty,
sadder now by the means and meaning of accumulation,
having thrice now measured the length of a stick of life,
denominated as a decade,
wiser now that the children underfoot,
certainty assured,
would have to pay
bills of lading for cargoes,
not of their own choosing,
indeed, selected unwisely,
by men like me, and men before,
all too old or too gone,
to be prosecuted now for the
short sightedness of reckless timidity

when I turned fifty,
the shoulders slightly stooped and gently curved,
my gait and pace slowed by weight,
pockets laden with undesired memories,
unfinished arguments,
dreams that morphed and morted into
failed schemes that with the
certainty assured,
the tallied ache of known losses
will always weigh greater
than the
unknown of opportune

now with seventy,
so near, onrushing to the sounds
of old men and their noisy excuses
of babbling, ironical,
eerie similar to the parental smiling hushing
of a newborn's squeaking,
a youthful brook,
happily to an open sea arushing,
hurrying in the fullness of innocence to
it's demise

the line of sight to the horizon,
far shorter now than ere before,
with greater certainty assured,
that near my god than thee,
my sadness daren't hope to dissipate, nor lift
as once it did,
an early morn mist rising off the river, 
freshly sun burnished, then miracle banished,
sacrificing itself as a hopeful oracle of a new born day

recurring haunted words
like rest, best and tried,
the only legacy remaining to gift,
but one thing yet measures a comforts,
a red cross blanket round the shoulders thrown that with
certainty assured,
the marvy joy of life all in,
be our given right to err and learn wisdom at our own pace

so here I freely confess
with wry, sly smile that we


proved ourselves to be
victims of our unintended tendencies,
successful in being

**all too human