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Do you still think
It's all a game?
Do you still think
I'm that same 'girl'
You used to know?
The person in the mirror?

I've lost the ability
To dream
To be happy
And if you can't do that
Then what's the point?

I'm dangling off the edge
All it'll take
Is one more push
And then I'll be gone.

Looking down
30 stories up
The pavement
Has never looked
So welcoming.

It's been going on too long
I've been walking up the stairs
Slowly but surely
I've crept to the edge.

I've sharpened the knife
And emptied the bottle

I'm going to see
If I can fly.
This one isn't good, but it's how I feel. I've tried to improve on it but this is all I could do. I doubt it but if you read it, I hope you like it.
I think we had something-
It wasn't love, but it wasn't
Nothing either;

Perhaps it was just
Stolen glances and
Laughing together

Perhaps it was feeling
Giddy at touching knees
And having nicknames

I know it wasn't love-
But in another time,
In another place,

It could've been.
Mark A. Williams
                            SEPTEMBER 14, 1962 – JULY 23, 2018

___________________­

Wow Mark,

Was so, so saddened to hear this news. I haven't seen you in over ten years, but as kids, we had some amazing adventures, didn't we? Partying, camping and swimming at the Hudson lime pits. Mowing down on Pizza and pitchers of Pepsi (and as we grew up, BEER!) at Pizza Hut. (We knew the numbers to ALL the songs on that jukebox by heart!) Hanging out and looking at the stars through Budvido's telescope, listening to Doctor Demento. Laughing hysterically as we ran through Monty Python skits as everyone looked on in total puzzlement because THEY wouldn't discover them until YEARS later!

Building underground forts in the North Woods. You, Budvido, Zeke and I playing pinball at 7-11 for hours and hours. Watching Bands, chasing girls and playing Foosball or Pool at the Touch of Class Teen Club. You gave me my first Imported beer . . . a Lowenbrau. I will always owe my passion for those German beers to you and it was fitting that Budvido bestowed you with that moniker.

All through Jr. High, sharing a seat on the school bus. You, Matt, Tom, Buddy and I cruising around late night on our bikes for hours. Hanging around in the Jasmine Lakes sign with hijacked beer or getting free bags of Burgers from Burger Queen when they closed at night! Jousting with shopping carts on our bikes in the Winn-Dixie parking lot. Sitting up all night in Jimi's room after climbing in through the window or going on endless space cruises with him and Raymond in the Toyota.

(RIP Jimi Carlsen)

Sneaking into the nudest Colony and skinny dipping! Always cracking up at the school lunch table. Swimming in my pool and terrorizing my sister and her friends. (Allegedly) Trashing that crook Fast Eddie's produce stand after he refused to pay us for a full day of picking watermelons!

Good times, indeed . . . Some of my most precious memories.

I can only pray that you know that I wouldn't trade my youth or you in it for anything in the world and you will be sadly missed, Lowenbrau, my old friend.

I hope that where you are, your beers are ice cold and that you and Jimi aren't having to glue the Hookah  back together.

Jeff Gaines
July 28, 2018
Such a sad task, to say goodbye to a friend with last words that may never had been spoken up until then. As it happens, this friend and I often relished in our youthful exploits, but still ... I'd not seen him in ten years. Because ... life happens. He had fallen on hard times and was bouncing place to place and I too was moving and living all over. We had spoken on the phone here and there and that would have to suffice.

I  haven't posted in weeks and I haven't read in almost 2 months. THANK YOU to those who have the patience with me to still read me, even though I can't reciprocate at the moment. I will, when time permits, come back and catch up on all of you. It will take me days and days!
No more poems, thank you;
I think that I'm done.
My notebook's half empty,
And apathy's won.

Please turn off the music;
My songs are all sung.
I think the night's over,
Although it's still young.

No more words, I beg you;
Just slice off my tongue!
They're just wasted air,
From a withering lung.

I've no more left to say;
Time to blot out the sun.
My notebook's half empty,
And apathy's won.
This space to be left blank
When I hadn't fallen for someone I used to think a lot.
I can't figure out what can I talk and what can not?
Is there any institution where this could be taught?
Or a guy like me can never learn & I should put away this thought.

But then I gotta know that secret lies in HOW.
WHAT TO TALK is never the question I've understood it now.
I have learned from this experience somehow.
And I can make her feel like princess if she will allow.

I realized I fell in love when I couldn't stop talking.
At nights, her social profiles, I started stalking.
Losing the sense of surrounding I started jaywalking.
And, In my book of life, a new chapter is now unlocking.

The sun for me doesn't even rise without her morning wish.
My friends are telling me that I've stopped being selfish.
For me, each word of yours is precious, although you think it as *******.
I usually act mature but with you I can't stop being childish.

Smiling so widely when your parents are watching you.
Telling each other about every situation which we've been through.
Thinking that the hours of our conversations are really very few.
A poet fell in love and you all are reading his point of view.
We all fall in love and that's a great feeling I know. But a poet falling in love, that's out of this world.
 Jul 2018 Traveller in time
rose
Have I made the best decisions
Have I done all I could
Have I used the judgement that I have
And used it all for good?
try to be the best version of yourself... that's all you can do
on a sea strand,
have you watched empty shells
mercilessly tossed from sea to shore
and from shore to sea?
      
often I shrink and reduce to such a shell,
with jagged and broken edges
colorless and empty

among many a debris cast on the shore,
i lie half buried under the sand
waiting for some mighty wave
to wash me away
all the way to the sea

how tedious is my voyage
shuttling from him to her
and from her to him
unable to openly confess
who weighs more
on the balance of preference

through how many alleys and by ways
I have wandered, questioning my identity!
am I a puffer fish, being toxic
the fisher men have discarded?
a jarring note in a discordant symphony?
I wonder....! I often ask myself!

destined to grow
in mercurial climes,
planted in arid shallow soil
with the tap root trimmed,
branches pruned,
growth denied,
I, a stunted bonsai!

still I dream to be a towering tree,
that in profusion gives fruits and shade!
a ****** aspiring to be a Goliath
a hollow reed,
longing at once to be the singer and the song!
When a divorce occurs, the threat of losing the home and losing the purpose of life confronts a child, especially in the younger age. Children of divorced parents experience a real trauma and they begin to doubt about their own identity!
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