A new day is born but the sun still sleeps
The room is dark, the curtains closed
A familiar kettles whistle calls me from my dreams
Of climbing hills on summer days

The whistle becomes a silence that stirs me from my warm cocoon
Of blankets piled on blankets
I feel the bite of jack frost as i tip toe from my room
Arms wrapped tight to hold the chills at bay
The glow from mothers lamp calls to me

The bed so big and welcoming I snuggle and wait
Wrapped now in mothers warm embrace
Father climbs the stairs, boots heavy, tea hot
And sweet, one for mother, one for himself
None for me
But that's the best part
I watch him lovingly, waiting, hoping, not knowing

Then the moment, the wonderful moment
He hands me the cup, can't drink it all
Would I help him finish it?
I smile, that happy, yummy, sweet tea smile
Its mine now, as it always is in the end

Then with a kiss he is gone, into the dark
His day begins, his walk is long, the tea will help sustain
I hug the cup it warms my small hands
I drink the nectar in two big gulps
The sugar kisses my lips and again I smile
That sweet tea smile

Union and Grand

I moved into this house less than a year ago
and already three gun related murders have occurred
within a three block radius; two of them involving children.
I'm not making this **** up.
Those numbers wouldn't be anything exciting for a population
hitting upwards of the millions,
but this is not a big city.
This is the heartland.
-
The city paid for a series of strategically placed dead ends,
forced turns, and surveillance equipment to be installed
in the area of about a mile surrounding my house.
No wonder they call this place "The Trap".
They keep changing the maze,
and studying us like rats.
-
They had a make-do memorial for the little girl who got shot.
They attached her stuffed animals, cards, and photos to a utility pole
on the corner of Union and Grand. The city had it taken down.
Some kind of city ordinance
from some dusty tome at the town hall.
Kids killing kids, and the shots keep firing.
-
Now don't get me wrong, I'm not what'd you call an activist.
But when bloodshed occurs within eye shot of where you sleep,
you start to get a little irked.
These kids have as much potential as me, and twice as much grit.
Their teachers barely even know their names,
let alone what it's like to be deprived of privilege.
-
I'll stomp this concrete until my feet break.
This labyrinth is my constant reminder and reality check.
I am here, and you are there.
This connection is suspended on silver threads and I am your puppet.
Mold me into your angst driven dreamboat.
Because tomorrow, I'm just going to wake up here. **Tyler.
-
This soul has been folded seven times
and I grow tired of this reality.
There was a time when I could scream loud enough to wake the dead.
I guess I'm showing the symptoms
of an accidental child
with a tongue that only tastes art as bitter protest.
-
I'd tear my face off
to know if this is really getting through to you.
The face in the photo is that of the goat; the false idol and deceiver.
A Knight of Pentacles, selling you gold plated garbage.
Odin-kin.
You always feel like I have a secret to keep; my fist is in the air.

Mother do not mourn me for I am not dead
I am well enough in this hospital bed

My leg it is gone in a Flanders field it lies
but some gave much more, paid a far greater price

My comrades lost, never to return
to England's shores for which they all yearned

I just want to see you Mother, again
and let you hold me, erase all the pain

So do not fret Mother, for me please be strong
till I’m home again Mother, where I belong

Your loving son

I must try to be strong now, my boy he is away
To fight for king and country, his boat sails this very day

To far off shores and places, of which I do not know
My heart it bursts with pride  but I am scared to see him go

I do not cry as he departs but smile with aching dread
As my boy, he marches strong and true to face what lies ahead

He will be be back here soon I feel, it will not last too long
But I will miss him every day and night that he is gone

I'll  look up to the heavens, and before the setting of each sun
I'll pray my boy comes back to me, and the war it will be won


From a Father