Pockets swole-
brokenness or dreams
Wells of my eyes-
sunken boredem or teary streams
As much; a military mind
doesn't walk into things- it's a march

Spring in that old step
whether in situations of a new season
The first key to making a moment
a keeper. I was at first a creeper,
a non believer; before a careless dreamer

it all ends in tears-
of joy or pain
all decided by how you act
under life's grey, and the rain