The sound of falling snow on leaves
Mocks the loneliness of the night.
As i walk through the streets,
I envy the carelessness of those leaves.

They are free.

In 1558 Pieter Brueghel painted
Icarus falling to the blue and green water
in a darkened corner, out of sight

He crashed close to shore
between a fisherman busy reviewing his catch
and a great ship with its sails being pulled
farther and farther into the sea

He sank and drowned quietly
while the whole world carried on
unbothered by death and tragedy
tending to their plows and herds

They’ll come back tomorrow
to plow their fields and steer their herds
with the same thoughts, an endless loop
even when a boy falls from the sky

And like my house falling to pieces
of white rubble and shattered glass
The screams are kept between the walls,
but the windows are paintings
of young boys falling to the floor
silently, unnoticed by the world

Hero....easily described
but, not so easily found
I've two that I remember
Now, both six feet in the ground

Not firemen, or athletes
Not policeman or my dad
But these two people are heroes
And that I met them makes me glad

Simon, strong as true forged steel
A kid with only one speed in his head
He was always pushing limits
And now poor Simon's dead

He was ten when I first met him
He was in a chair, but hey, big deal
Simon was a true survivor
He showed me just how I should feel

He showed me I was handicapped
He told me off when it was due
Until I treated him like other kids
He showed me stuff I never knew

He left us far too early
A little boy, not yet a man
but, Simon, you're my hero
You showed the reason for "I can"

The other one, I only knew
For a short time years ago
He was two when I first met him
With skin as white as fallen snow

We both shared a room together
He wouldn't live a long long life
He had luekemia and was dying
Too young to have this strife

He was always smiling broadly
As happy as someone could be
He didn't know that he was dying
He didn't know he'd not see three

But, his smile and his shining eyes
They showed me what it means
To live each day like it's your last
And to not make big, sad scenes

Both these special children
Left impressions on my heart
They are my special heroes
Who never got a chance to start

I wish that I
                     could turn myself into love;

From head to finger-tip-toe
                                            and to each broken strand of golden hair.

I'd stretch myself outward until
                                                    love encompassed you.

sometimes the feeling is too intense for a midday coffee out in the town
or even a sunday afternoon stroll along that beach we never go to anymore. but that
feeling doesn't go away simply because it's unwanted or because the time just isn't
appropriate.
that feelings hangs around in it's unwelcome nature and nags at us to give it
some recognition. maybe if we stopped for a while, sat down on a salted log
somewhere along that coastline, and listened to the silence that comes along
with that pestering feeling, we'd understand just why we need to feel like that.
so often we are surrounded by the
standards
that say, no, you can't feel that, no
you can't express that, no you can never ever tell anyone you feel that way. maybe
if one day we realized that it only takes a moment of knowing and
accepting
that you feel like it to make it all start to go away.

Depression
Derived from under appreciation
I hate the feeling
But addicted to the sensation

I'm not complacent
I'm sick of it
No one understands
I'm choked by my own two hands

"You never finish anything."
Her words pierced my tongue.
I sighed. Hands on hips,
I looked at the broken bulb that flickered at me.

My foot started tapping.
Shifting my weight onto it, bent knee,
I looked sassy.

With the oven steaming, I started backing away.
I didn't like the smell, that's all.
"You're a failure, you know that?"
I knew it. She knew it.

People who met me could see potential,
but my eyes, they screamed disappointment.
I may as well have tattoo'd it on my forehead.

I'd wear it well.
Like Scarlett's letter,
imprinted for everyone to see.

A waste of time, she'd said.
That's all I was to her.
An embarrassment.

And she was right