"My Grandfather sits in the corner as the
party is going on.
No one to talk to. No one to explore his
past years, and his hidden charm.
Sipping his glass of red vino, i vision as
he once sat on the streets of Italy with his Family, and
friends.
I can hear the sounds of the Mandolin as he makes
his move on the checker board under the shady tree.
I drew closer wanting to know more of this Family Monarch.
So many untold stories that he may want to talk about.
As i approached he turned to me calling out my name with
a question. "Ah, Michael. Are you having a good time?
I answered. "No Grandpa, but with you i'll be fine."
We spoke all about his past, and Oh how we laughed.
Tears began to develop from his eyes, I asked. "Grandpa why
do you cry.?"
He held my hands. He kissed my cheeks with a reply."It's been
a long time that i sat with someone who is interested with my
life before i die."

.

I touched the field of amber pleadings
with eyes only sure enough to find that hidden light
Long lost in the sea of forgotten grasses,
brown from the sun, parched by a drought,
exhaling diversions as I stand facing time,
expecting faces to appear but hands caught the sorrow,
passing it down to an earth that is baked and sore,
thirsting for more, a longer plain in this universe

Weeping cocoons snug in the brambles
oblivious to what the outside wears,
blend in with the endings slowly creeping
awaiting metamorphosis
as a tree falls, no noise, no energy for that
Rooted in dismay, clogged by last season’s air,
pausing only to capture one final view
of the smoke stacks, brick faced commandos,
circular spewing pillars
where beneath wealth is created
but eternity is shortened at wholesale prices

Grey skies, a constant color
pressing doom and gloom
into the landscape, fitted like wedges
force fed in spoonfuls of ignorance
Gathering place settings at my feet,
stirring up dust, blurring the wishers
wondering where the water went,
dry beds, serpentine emptiness,
spilling into garbage piles where lakes once
reflected the ripples as they slowly left,
as not even mud stands a fighting chance

When on a hill I see them, the youth,
our future, backpacks and bubblegum,
ear buds and sunglasses, well meaning,
looking for the next iphone, not being taught
that an apple is actually a fruit
Reading comic books about heroes,
caped crusaders who will save the planet
(that must be what the S stands for)
one colored page at a time

And I sit in the dirt, leaving my impression
for that is all I have left, no answers that
have not been asked, no solutions
that remain passed over, just a wild hair
out of place in this take all world
as highways trickle across farm lands
and corn fields are as barren as my stare

But there is hope…there is always hope...

I hope