I sat atop the roof so high,
And sang my mournful lullaby.

Years went and the tears went
Pouring down my face. A crier
At heart, emotions run my game,
Though I was never taught how to play.

When the going gets tough,
Pull yourself up by the bootstraps,
Making sure not to hang yourself
In the process of “equality for all”.

There’s nothing equal about love, and
There’s nothing fair about emotional reactions.
Both happen spontaneously, subconsciously,
And
Suddenly
You’re living a life you never imagined.

I’m tired of singing this sad soliloquy.
It’s time to leave the roost.

The more responsibility I gain,
Further away I want to run.
Life pushes on my shoulders,
And it no longer seems like fun.

My back yearns for the ability
To sprout wings and fly.
Escaping from the chaos within
Is the only way I'll get by.

I'm  scared that this mundane life
Will ultimately  be my torturous end.
How can I escape from this road,
When I can't even see where it bends?

When two people, so different in taste, look at each other from across the dance floor, a secret sparks out of their eyes like electric rays of romantic notation. Words have yet to be exchanged, but the slow steps towards one another make time slow to an unearthly crawl. Those dancing are nothing more than hues of grey, for the two ash-stricken lovers cannot see more than those they are attracted to. Hearts pound to a rhythm that can no longer be found within the upbeats of the swaying samba. As she longs to be in his arms, he stops only inches in front, his breath caught in his throat. The increasing amount of love being released from just his simplistic gaze makes her want to run as far as she can. With him of course, though it is not a realistic approach to the turmoil surrounding their troublesome secret. A secret that increases as he gently slides his fingers against her cheek, resting the palm of his hand on the back of her neck. Feeling the contrasting temperatures of the cool evening and her racing heartbeat, her head begins to get foggy with the vision of love that is shortly about to engulf her every fiber. The kiss, so gentle and sweet, brings back the times of innocence that was not thwarted by the interruption of time and changed lives. If only they could run away…

This might not be a poem: more so a realization at most. The complaints I have throughout the day are anything but morose. Walk an hour in another man's shoes, and suddenly life has so much more I could lose. Where could I be in that first step?

I could be standing in the flip flops of a beautiful friend , taking care of four children as a new widow.

I could be in sneakers as the man  selling newspapers in the desert heat day after day.

I could be in a different shoe every day, as a comedian loved by all, who could make everyone laugh, but himself.

I could be in heels in a doctors office, facing the reality of only a few months left.

But I'm not. My shoes are worn, but my heart is not. My days might be long, but my bed is warm. The jobs I work help keep our bills paid and our food plentiful.

I was going to complain today: but when I realized how beautiful today was, I had nothing to say.

Where could you be, in that first step?

One Two Three Four Five.
A poem for you to count.
Six Eight Nine Ten...Oops.

March 19, the day you died.
The day a friend had left our side.
The call I got was short and swift.
My head spun, my heart adrift.

"Dead?!" I cried.
How could this be?
He had just left...
...I could still remember his glee.

A wife and children,
All left behind.
His story is enough,
to keep his spirit alive:

A joyful man, friends with all,
He loved his family, and trucked through every haul.
A handsome son, and three beautiful daughters,
All left behind: babes without their father.

He landed on our soil,
The land of the free.
Destined to be in his box,
His final resting memory.
"I'm sorry for your lost"
Just didn't seem right.
I had only lost a friend,
Not a mother, nor a wife.

The funeral came,
So bright and tranquil.
He loved his life,
And so many loved him.
A beautiful day, for all to hear,
Even when the bugle cried.
We listened to it's mournful lullaby.

I'm mad at you, but I'll be okay.
I could never stay mad at that goofy face.
Watch over your family, tuck them in at night,
And I'll keep from saying Good bye,
I'll simply say, See you in the sky.

A snowy morning brings forth crisp chills.
Kisses goodbye still hang in the air.
Little feet scamper in to seek warmth.
The bell sounds off, the teachers report.

Children are laughing, they are having fun.
Roll call is taken, and then math has begun.
A dark shadow quickly casts upon the walls.
A morning to forget unfolds...

Innocence is youth, they always say.
Yet how can you encompass innocence
When your friends don't go home?
When you see your mom break down?

Children should laugh, children should play
Parents shouldn't have to see them...
Gone forever.

How can one raise small minds in a cruel world?
When lollipops and sugarplums no longer dance.
Children are children, less never forget.
Give them their youth, give them a chance.