So vividly my mind's eye remembers.
I gaze into the darkness behind my lids
And see the shadows take your form.

First your young face.
Round cheeks, short dark hair.
Eyes black as coals.
Eyes haunted by what you knew
And what you carried alone
With a neck
That could barely support your head.

Then your torso,
The outline of every rib
Stretching the taut skin of your chest.
Your frail thin arms
And tiny bony hands.

Lastly your legs,
The first to go
And the last that appear.
Knobby knees,
Contorted tendons,
Curved feet.

And just as your mouth begins to move,
Your eyes shining with mirth,
Your feeble hands open before you,
A laughter rings through the air.
I run to you
momentarily forgetting
And brutally reminded
As I grab you in my arms
Only for you to disappear.

Salty tears burn my eyes,
A cry of despair pierces the silence,
I wretch onto the floor.
It's been eight years
And it hits me all the same.
I close my eyes again
Willing you away
Trying to forget
But I can't.

Though down many long, sometimes crowded,
mostly lonely roads
of life in seasons spent, in the dreams
and memories, bittersweet in plans and schemes,
you, of one, and of some of a few,
touched my life
forever,
and you still now do,
with your hand outstretched,
I take it and in gratefulness,
thank you for your friendship,
and graciousness,
and though the road still before me lies,
it's not so lonesome with
you by my side.
__
Inspiring image:
http://beautyineverything.com/5357912558

Bullets cut through the air.
Making noise that would drop Napoleon to his knees.
This night has turned into a screaming prayer for death.
Forgetting the definition of pleasure.
Dealing with the immanentism of pain.

Dwelling in this world unknown to most,
Has become common place to one.
So common to which lacrimation has become all too ordinary.
Come to find out this is all nothing more than
MONDAY.

A free bird leaps on the back
Of the wind and floats downstream
Till the current ends and dips his wing
In the orange suns rays
And dares to claim the sky.

But a BIRD that stalks down his narrow cage
Can seldom see through his bars of rage
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
Of things unknown but longed for still
And his tune is heard on the distant hill for
The caged bird sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
And the trade winds soft through
The sighing trees
And the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright
Lawn and he names the sky his own.

But a caged BIRD stands on the grave of dreams
His shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with
A fearful trill of things unknown
But longed for still and his
Tune is heard on the distant hill
For the caged bird sings of freedom.

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow—
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream:
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand—
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep
While I weep—while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?