I pulled an all-nighter.
For an insomniac
That doesn't seem like
Such a great thing,
But there's a difference.
Staying up all night
Because I can't fall asleep
Is immensely different
From staying up
Because I'm trying not to sleep.
And you know that as an insomniac
I love sleep
Because it's so fleeting
Like whispers of wind
Slipping through my fingers--
Practically impossible to grasp!
And despite this...

I pulled an all-nighter
*Because I was waiting for you.

Last night I drowned in whiskey sighs
and long forgotten names.
Scenes of a life on showreel flickered
past my smoke dried eyes.
Reaping memories from curled photographs dampened by the mists of time,
harvesting my youth for sustenance against my growing years.

We stood beer-brave in tented fields
sunshine grins grimaced at *** wide eyes,
bare feet caked in ancient loam
as we danced with the joy of jesters
to a beat unheard as it carried.

We vibrant few, army booted, rainbow clothed
misunderstanding forever,
believing it was ours to keep in tattooed burlap.
While too many Floyd wrapped sunsets slowly sealed our fates.

The old boy
was comforted by morphine
when he flatlined,
gave up the ghost
in a gurgling-manner,
then went ashen.

He was surrounded
by his loved ones,
eleven of which
were once held
by such large fingers,
but what seemed to me
at that sad moment,
just tiny hands,
I touched
tearfully.

I am writing this down
In case there's someone out there
Who can draw on my needs
And take over from here

Who's walls will not crumble
When shaken inside
One who won't take my heart
Then run off and hide

Someone who stands up
When life gets in the way
Never afraid
To live another day

For when the times come along
I can take it no more
With what little courage I had
Spilled out on the floor

Where it seeps through the cracks
Deep into the ground
Buried below
To never be found

That's why I'm writing this down
In hopes there's someone out there
Who can draw on my needs
And take over from here

i look into your eyes
and all I see is bliss
i listen to your lips
and all I hear is my wish

to hear your heavenly voice
crash against my ears

The time has passed, too quickly,
since the years they served in war.
Some grow bald, others grey,
They are rounder than before.
Today’s objective is the restaurant
to beat the midday rush
When Retired Old Marines Eat Out
They usually meet for lunch.
At times like this, they reminisce
of D.I.’s they have known.
Speak the unused names of friends
who never made it home.
They give their time to charities;
Like Christmas toys for tots,
and package gifts for young Marines
who serve now they cannot.
They serve as honor guard for those
Who’ve reached the final post.
The few, the proud, who keep us free,
Have given more than most.
Perhaps not lean,
but still quire keen,
Semper Fi,
the Corps.