Third Place Glory

That winter was rough, to put it plain,
Loss after loss, the same refrain.
Our squirt B2 team, hearts full, legs slow—
A bench of grit, with not much show.

Jake and I, we stood in doubt,
Should we take the Fargo route?
The team was tired, the record bleak,
We feared defeat would steal their streak.

“Maybe we just say it’s canned,”
We whispered low, not what we planned.
Not out of fear, but of the toll—
Protecting hearts was our shared goal.

But something sparked—we changed our mind.
We packed the bags, left doubt behind.
A ragtag crew with nothing owed,
Chasing hope down frozen roads.

In Fargo’s chill, they hit the ice,
With something fierce, something precise.
They passed, they fought, they found their speed,
And every kid played past their need.

Game by game, they rose, they burned,
With every shift, the tide had turned.
No longer just a team who tried—
They played with fire, they played with pride.

Then came the win for third place gold,
A trophy clutched by hands so bold.
We almost robbed them of this climb—
This memory etched in frozen time.

Jake and I just stood and grinned,
Proud of the boys, of where they’d been.
Not for the win or goals they scored,
But how they fought when we ignored.

Sometimes the heart knows more than stats,
More than boards and wins and hats.
And now we know what doubt can miss—
The joy of almost never is.

© 2025 Shawn Oen. All rights reserved.

Just a Man

I am just a man—no crown, no fame,
No headlines chasing down my name.
I wake up early, sleep comes late,
I carry love and shoulder weight.

I fix what breaks, I build what’s mine,
With calloused hands and worn-out spine.
The house, the car, the yard, the door—
I patch the world and still want more.

But beneath the grit and sweat and steel,
There’s something softer I conceal.
A heart that swells with love and fear,
That holds back tears no one can hear.

I laugh the loudest when they shine,
And ache in silence when they pine.
My dreams are small but true and wide—
A warm home, a hand in mine, pride.

I wish I had more time to cook,
To stir a ***, to steal a look.
To pour my heart in sauce and flame,
And feed my soul the same sweet name.

I stand beside those dressed in white,
Who fight through pain from morn to night.
Though I don’t wear a stethoscope,
I give them strength, I give them hope.

I don’t need riches, gold, or praise,
Just honest work and steady days.
To see my family safe and fed,
To tuck my son into his bed.

And if the world should call for more,
I’d give my strength, my soul, my core.
Because though I stand with quiet grace,
There’s fire and softness in this place.

So call me simple—yes, I am.
A stubborn, loyal, weathered man.
But I would break and bend and fight—
For those I love, I’d give my life.

© 2025 Shawn Oen. All rights reserved.

She Showed Me How

She came into this world so fast,
A moment stamped into my past.
I was young—too young to know
How deep a father’s roots must grow.

I loved her, yes, but love alone
Can’t raise a child or build a home.
I stumbled, scared, without a plan,
Half-boy, half-heart, not yet a man.

The years moved on, she grew apart,
And guilt pressed heavy on my heart.
A bond undone, a missed first day,
A thousand things I didn’t say.

Then came her—my brand new wife,
A steady soul who lit my life.
She saw the cracks I tried to hide,
And stood not back, but by my side.

She didn’t scold the boy I’d been,
She met the man I am within.
With kindness, patience, grace so wide,
She drew my daughter to our side.

She opened doors I’d left closed tight,
Spoke softer truths, turned wrongs to right.
Invited joy where silence grew,
And helped me learn what dads must do.

Now laughter rings where doubt once lay,
My daughter knows I’m here to stay.
And every smile we share right now
Begins with her—she showed me how.

For all I missed, for where I fell,
She loved me through and loved me well.
And in her hands, I found my way—
A father formed, a debt I’ll pay.

© 2025 Shawn Oen. All rights reserved.

In the Eyes of God

She brought me here with love so wide,
To stand with her, to be her guide.
But first—these pews, this sacred place,
Where I must reckon, seek some grace.

RCIA on Thursday nights,
Learning saints and candle lights.
I followed faith I didn’t know,
Just to be hers, to let love grow.

One evening, quiet in his room,
I met the priest—no fire, no gloom.
Father Lybarger, calm and still,
He asked me gently, “What you will?”

I said, “There’s something I still bear—
A weight too deep for just a prayer.
I wore the flag, I did my part…
But I’ve killed a man. And it scars my heart.”

His silence wasn’t cold or long,
But measured, like a sacred song.
“You served,” he said. “You carried flame.
But war, my son, is not your shame.”

“It was duty,” I said. “Orders, battle—
But still I see his face, and more.
Can I stand before the Lord,
And vow a love I once ignored?”

He breathed, then nodded, soft and grave,
“God knows the burdens soldiers brave.
He sees the soul beneath the fight,
And walks with you through every night.

You didn’t choose to k ill in hate—
You served the world, you bore its weight.
Confess not guilt, but give your pain,
Let mercy wash you clean again.”

I left with tears that didn’t fall,
But sat behind my every wall.
And when she looked at me that night,
She saw me whole, and not the fight.

She asked me why I stayed behind,
What I had needed there to find.
I gave a smile, I made it small—
Said, “Just a talk, that’s all, that’s all.”

She searched my face, but didn’t press,
Just held my silence, nothing less.
She knew that something lived inside,
But let it wait—she let me hide.

For love like hers and grace like this,
Are forged through pain, not only bliss.
And when I say “I do” that day,
I’ll know what sacrifice can weigh.

I gave a life I can’t reclaim,
But God still whispers through my shame:
“You are not broken—just made new,
And worthy of the love in view.”

© 2025 Shawn Oen. All rights reserved.

Her Text

It came out of the softest blue,
A simple line—but sharp and true.
“Dinner tonight? Just you and me?”
And suddenly, I couldn’t breathe.

You rarely plan—you’re steady, slow,
But this time, you let your wanting show.
And in that ask, I felt the flame—
Desire dressed in your sweet name.

I smiled like I had something to hide,
The kind of grin you can’t confide.
My chest lit up, my pulse ran wild—
You’d chosen me—no work, no child.

I pictured us across a plate,
Your knees near mine, the quiet weight.
A glance, a brush, a smirk, a tease—
The kind of want that doesn’t freeze.

I rushed through tasks, the hours crawled,
The thought of you—untamed, uncalled.
And somewhere deep, my mind slipped free—
To later on, just you and me.

Not just the food, not just the wine,
But where your skin would meet with mine.
The slow undress, the dim-lit air,
The way you pull me everywhere.

So much in one small, glowing text—
A dinner date, a body next.
The thrill of love that still can spark
A blaze from something soft and dark.

And when we met, and you leaned in,
The night had barely yet begin.
But I already knew the truth:
You still choose me—and I want you too.

© 2025 Shawn Oen. All rights reserved.

Hope at Hope

The roses came a little bruised,
Their petals soft, their color used.
But still you smiled and set them high,
A quiet grace behind your eye.

The morning stretched with open skies,
No noise, no rush, no reason why.
We pedaled out, just us three,
You, our son, and me—set free.

He led the way, so full of light,
His little frame in morning’s height.
We followed close, hearts keeping time,
The world behind, the day sublime.

Then brunch at Hope, long-planned with care,
A little place, a lot to share.
Your coffee steamed, your laughter warm,
Inside that calm, we found our form.

We talked like we had all the years,
No stress, no weight, no silent fears.
Just waffles, smiles, and hands that knew—
This day was made for only you.

Later came the dog’s delight,
A walk, the yard, the soft dusk light.
We ran, we played, we breathed in deep,
And watched the world begin to sleep.

And when the stars rose overhead,
We met again in our warm bed.
No need for words, just touch and trust—
A kind of love that feels like us.

Though roses fade, this day will stay—
A perfect bloom in memory’s clay.
A ride, a laugh, a look, a kiss—
A life built slowly, full of this.

© 2025 Shawn Oen. All rights reserved.

Fire Through the Screen

Miles of sand, a war-torn sky,
And still, it’s you who floods my mind.
Your face lit soft in pixel light,
A ghost of touch in desert night.

You whisper low, your voice like fire,
Each breath a spark, each word desire.
My hands can’t reach, but still they ache,
For every curve I cannot take.

Your beauty glows through static haze,
A sun that burns in far-off days.
I watch you move, a sacred spell,
A private world where bodies dwell.

You tease the straps from sun-kissed skin,
And I forget the world I’m in.
No bombs, no guns, just you and me,
Two souls undressed by memory.

I talk you through with hungry eyes,
You answer back in breathless sighs.
The screen between us can’t divide
The fever rising deep inside.

This isn’t just some fleeting thrill—
It’s need, it’s love, it’s wanting still.
To claim you whole, to taste your name,
To feel you burn and do the same.

And though you’re half a world away,
We keep the dark and cold at bay.
Through cords and keys and whispered pleas,
We love in digital release.

Come home to me—my heart, my flame.
Until you do, I’ll speak your name
Into the night, into the fire,
With every pixel, every desire.

© 2025 Shawn Oen. All rights reserved.