A.
Plates.
When colliding with wooden walls thrown from hand that have had enough
even in this weakness you show strength.
B.
Bones.
You have broken 27 bones, had six surgeries, and tasted deaths lips twice
Each bone grew back strong and imperfect after splitting from its whole.
I manage to find beauty in this recklessness you made of your life.
C.
Pencils.
I kept losing my pencils, so you always carried an extra
when I left school for the second time you
took that stash and made a production of snapping each one like you claimed I snapped your heart
D.
But hearts don’t break,
they become misshapen with every trauma named you
and still manage to pump the blood that I draw from behind its curtain with shards of that plate you shattered
This canvas I want to tear myself from is what you once loved
cushioning your bones from life’s recklessness,
and I now realize those extra pencils you gave to me
were what you considered a consolation for always taking pieces of me

We carried his body back to shore. There was nothing we could do to stop this man hellbent on self destruction. He planned it out and wanted it more than anything. Here we are left to clean up, left to drag his corpse back to shore. His old weathered skin still holding that final smirk of satisfaction. I hope the water brought him peace, I hope the water calmed the war in his head.
Everything else is best left unsaid.
Goodbye old friend.

darkness
  has swallowed
        the key
   to the room
     of my mind.

Each second, right here, right now, exciting moments are unfolding as if coming into flower.  Breathtaking wonder, its cadence rising,
modulated and rhythmic, making the heart quicken.

Who, for example, can resist a rainbow or not
thrill to the cataract's roar?  Before God died in your eyes,
He wrapped us in the safety of a blanket made of moral fiber;

And set us on our way to look upon this beguiling and buzzing     beauty.  Life in a candy store, ripe for the taking!
This fullness of manifestation is not lost on one looking.