Wartime liquid *****
Praises from the distant dead
A penchant for vanishing
Seamless letters, fresh and extensive
Pulsating with life, yet deceased

A life that was once so full
Now reduced to these words on a page
A testament to a time
That will never be the same

But the ***** of that life
Will live on in these words
A reminder that even in death
There is still hope for the future

So let us praise these letters
Remnants of a time
For they are a gift from the past
A reminder that even in darkness
There is always light to be found

Clinging to my dreams
Losing touch to reality
I am alone swimming
In this fierce ocean
I am catching the cold
Iciness in this stone heart
Barely floating
How to wake up from this fantasy,
this water is too salty.

The under shell of
the tortoise looked
like a sunset.
Blasts of color:
orange, maroon, burnt sienna.
I caught them in
the garden at
sunrise, eating a
tomato or chewing into
a head of lettuce.
They always looked so
serious.

I was just a
sunburnt boy, with
cutoff jeans and a
straw hat.
I caught toads too.
But when they peed on me,
I let them go.
I loved that land.
Ponds and streams,
fishing and climbing trees.
oh,
sweet, green
youth.