I have heavy boots
My boots are filled with all of the things I never say
They are getting heavier with all the things I never do
Sometimes it’s just easier to wear heavy boots
At least your legs get strong

FIRST

Be it a girl, or one of the boys,
It is scarlet all over its avoirdupois,
It is red, it is boiled; could the obstetrician
Have possibly been a lobstertrician?
His degrees and credentials were hunky-dory,
But how's for an infantile inventory?
Here's the prodigy, here's the miracle!
Whether its head is oval or spherical,
You rejoice to find it has only one,
Having dreaded a two-headed daughter or son;
Here's the phenomenon all complete,
It's got two hands, it's got two feet,
Only natural, but pleasing, because
For months you have dreamed of flippers or claws.
Furthermore, it is fully equipped:
Fingers and toes with nails are tipped;
It's even got eyes, and a mouth clear cut;
When the mouth comes open the eyes go shut,
When the eyes go shut, the breath is loosed
And the presence of lungs can be deduced.
Let the rockets flash and the cannon thunder,
This child is a marvel, a matchless wonder.
A staggering child, a child astounding,
Dazzling, diaperless, dumbfounding,
Stupendous, miraculous, unsurpassed,
A child to stagger and flabbergast,
Bright as a button, sharp as a thorn,
And the only perfect one ever born.

SECOND

Arrived this evening at half-past nine.
Everybody is doing fine.
Is it a boy, or quite the reverse?
You can call in the morning and ask the nurse.

When we were young,
A universe was erected in our home.
The walls of our home were infinite and magical,
They were impenetrable and everlasting.
When we jumped, we thought maybe
We could fly.
When we were young, we could
Get lost in our house.
It was a whole world,
The outdoors were only an extension.
When we were young,
Dinnertime was solemn and thoughtless
Snacks came and went.
Floorboards held unknown delicacies and treasure troves.
When we were young,
We believed in the magic of mankind
And the infinity of a home.
When we were young,
We never expected to be anything else.

The girl stepped cautiously along the sidewalk,
while the rain kept knocking on the umbrella top,
as though it was asking her to open the nylon door.

She was being followed wherever she went,
as the knocking seemed to grow intense.
"Fold up your umbrella, and join me for a dance.

Don't let that piece of canopy come between us",
the rain said. "and let it keep you out from fun."
The girl decided to cast aside the umbrella,
removed her shoes, for once, to feel the rain.

The rain caressed between her tress of hair,
kissed her from her forehead to her neck,
and even touched her every skin.

The girl tiptoed on the flooded floors,
and made music with her tapping feet.
She swung her skirt and danced with him,
tossed her hair and did a joyful spin.

The rain had washed off her inhibitions
and made her fall in love with him. Even
if she caught flu, she'd want to do it again.

When I was young and bold and strong,
Oh, right was right, and wrong was wrong!
My plume on high, my flag unfurled,
I rode away to right the world.
"Come out, you dogs, and fight!" said I,
And wept there was but once to die.

But I am old; and good and bad
Are woven in a crazy plaid.
I sit and say, "The world is so;
And he is wise who lets it go.
A battle lost, a battle won--
The difference is small, my son."

Inertia rides and riddles me;
The which is called Philosophy.

I found myself siting in the sand, my back against a Hesco bastion, writing on an old familiar note pad. I imagined myself at home, sitting against the old oak tree that grew in the back yard, grass tickling my bare feet in the humid summer breeze. The old cheap pencil I was using had bite marks on it and the eraser was long gone but it wrote just fine and made a scratching sound against the grain of the paper that I found soothing as I filled the page. It was my escape after all…writing. It took me away from the day to day stress of southern Afghanistan. I thought about that as I wrote…how people needed a way to escape. I’ll admit to thinking about all kinds of things, that’s just what writing does for me. It makes me think. It makes me want to tell stories of love, pain, sorrow and joy. It makes me want to abuse my notepad with doodles and tear stains long after I forgot what I was doing in the first place, which wasn’t the point anyway. It wasn’t important “what” I was writing. It was important “that” I was writing, because the joy is in the doing.

My big brother has always been a hero in my eyes
His actions were misleading, sort of in disguise
But I looked to him for the path to walk
Even before the days when I learned to talk

We were just kids, we would stay up late
Talking about our problems and all the people we used to “hate”
But as time went by, as if in the beat of a heart
We found ourselves in worlds; different and apart

The things he did and all the people he knew
Were of no use for me to actually get a clue
Begging for help, without ever saying a word
Makes it hard for your little brother to know your pain

Like the haze of smoke, we got caught coughing, trying to breath
But the oxygen was gone from the brother’s past
Nothing left but monoxide to toxify the bonds of brotherhood
We separated to two separate countries, how it was always supposed to be

But it was exactly different than it should have been
My brother is a hero for he showed me what not to do
He showed me who’s not cool – by being their friend
He helped me set my life on its proper way

So my brother I want to say,
You’re my unexpected hero.

26 angels have arrived for orientation
Taken from the world without hesitation
Heaven is a little more crowded:
There’s a place already prepared
At least tonight those who’ve passed,
Will rest in God’s care

Buried under heartbreak, Newtown still stands
Worlds changed, for this kid and the next
“Kids, 2 +2 is…” BANG -
Children were unable to protect,
Themselves or their friends

Gunshots filled the air
Instead of love that should be there

Flags at half-staff, leave us half-hearted
Soo many, like too many,
Will spend their Christmas
With families torn apart
And no New Years resolution
Can make up for the inhuman execution

May we ever look to love unconditionally.