Time passes...
While sitting on the steps
Waiting for the water company
To come and turn off the water.
My old home.
The one I grew up in...
Mom and Dads place,
Then my sons place.
Now sold..
Everything removed
But the memories...
Hard to turn off the tears.
I look at the iron railing
My dad made,
With marks pounded in it .
A curled end, with little rings
Between every other rail.
At Christmas I would tip toe down
And peek through the rails
To see if Santa arrived yet.
Dad made a bar in the basement.
On the front of it still
Are My initials JK
He cut them out for me.
I can't remove them now,
Because he used wood glue
To fasten them to the bar.
There is a shelf to devide
The dining room and front room.
Growing up we had a large fish bowl
On two of the shelves.
Angel fish,
And guppies...
Now shelves are bare.
A lot of stories to be told,
Created in this old house.
Giving me a lot of great memories.
Leaving this house
Is like leaving my mom and dad
Behind...
But I know they are
With me in my heart.
Thanks mom and dad
For giving me a great childhood.
Life changes,
As does the place to live...
Good bye
To my childhood home..

Each day is drowned in frigid waters.
Never able to dock against real land.
Little bubbles ripple to the surface of the ill-fated.
Riptides of hate and disgust slam the high towers of this mighty hull.
The icy cluster plunges into the depth of our core.
Defiantly this mighty bow of ours shrieks from its deathly hollows.
As if some ghostly being is wailing it's final departure to the sea.
Monotonous overtones creak inside this inlet;
as life and death flood to it's harmony.
Brimming with animosity and subjugation.
The majestic's heart yearns for land one last time.
Our innards displayed,
as our two halves fatally sink to their final depths.
Never reaching our idol port.  
Never finding what was Solely ours to find.  
A sinking Ship.

You speak in volumes.
Volumes of loud, loud, and a little bit louder.
You speak these volumes only when I come around.
I heard you speaking to your family,
and **** that is heart breaking to hear.
When your voice echos around my ears,  
Why you sound so lovely it's hard not to fall in love with you again.
When you speak to me it's hard not to be heart broken.
Because with each word you bite your own tongue.
Some how screaming out other words is only what you can do.
I speak the same words as I always spoke.
That's who I am a master painter of vocabulary; that never left his creed
Yet the artist whom I fell in love with only has 2nd rate living room-- pieces to throw around these days.
I'm building works and conveying such honesty that I can only find. While I'm in the gallery with you.
No matter the beauty I can build; some how you never see me build it.
I construct such things right before your eyes.
Although you only tell me they are lies.
Maybe the daunting shadows of last gallery shine too bright.
That when you compare the two.
My best lines obscure the ones orchestrated before you now.
I open our last gallery for a viewing,
and you shine so bright.
You become my sunshine like you were then,
and your glow blazes childish hope into my veins,
but then I realize that, our past is all you see these days.
That the future doesn't hold special things anymore.
As the gates close to our viewing, obviously the sun no longer shows.
I sit amongst our living room art; you have created once more.

House maid
I was told that a house maid was someone that you paid.
A person. A stranger. A worker.
Someone that you don't really know.
Someone that you are estranged to.
Someone that simply cleans up after you.
You can't really complete sentences to them,
because when you look them in the eye, you only see a worker.
Seeing that honestly this person is beneath and worth only your filth.
That treating them decent would make them more.
That's not what you want, you want to see them as your servant.
While lying that you think of them as family.
Coming in and out of your house daily.
They only have time to clean up after your family.
When they come home to their own mess, there's nothing left.
Energy they used to ease your life, was the energy to rebuild their own.
Without energy all they have is the ability to rinse and repeat the cycle.
Now while I act like your house maid.
I no longer see you as the family members I maybe had.
but the estranged owners that now I have.
You are not simply my boss, but the people that own my life.
When I come and go out of my room to clean yours.
I see only the people and things that belong to strangers.
I am a live in house maid.
The only difference from me and a house maid is that they get paid.
You owning my life and all else, simply reminds me that I am no maid.
That simply put, I am most likely your slave.
and what a difficult place to be,
when I used to be your son.