All armies are the same
Publicity is fame
Artillery makes the same old noise
Valor is an attribute of boys
Old soldiers all have tired eyes
All soldiers hear the same old lies
Dead bodies always have drawn flies

It was October of 1966 and he was 9.
He walked proudly
through the scary Brooklyn streets,
searching for that one corner he saw-
on the ride home from PS 361,
back when he was 8.
An entire 3 blocks from home,
and he arrived at Mamma Rosa’s.
“World Famous Taste."
he would taste it soon enough.
(He didn’t know it, but Mamma’s was only famous
for the pizza grease layer over the checkered table cloths).

He mastered the menu with his 3rd grade reading skills.
The “marr-in-ay-ruh” sauce sounded tasty.

The steaming spaghetti came towards his window seat,
and Billboard’s Top 10 Singles played over his noodle noises.

“Mother’s Little Helper” by The Stones was new to him.
He twisted his pasta to the beat of the sitar.
The spicy guitar chords and zest of the marinara on his tongue. . .
The al dente string
swayed
from his stinging lips and to the beat of the bass.

He paid in three quarters he got from the landlord.
He swept the driveway every Sunday.
It was the best sauce he will have ever tasted.
“What a drag it is-
getting old.”

I lay awake when I should be asleep...
No when I should be dreaming
But....I am awake my eyes are burning from staring at the screen.
My heartbeats flutter and add extra rhythm.
My life slowly gaining momentum as I stay stationary, lying in my bed listening to the rain.

This aging confuses me so.
How can one day I wake up and have my mommy take care of everything
To me making sure I can handle myself?
Going from no fear
To a fear of everything ?
To development, growth, improvement, struggle, hate, love and all in-between.
It's all chaos to me.
All of it.
But
I'm growing up.
And I can't stop it.

With your eyes, you seem to look through mine and into my soul
With your words, you make me feel happier than I've ever been
With your kiss, you make my heart blush with a scarlet redder than fire
With your arms, you wrap me in an embrace that makes me feel entirely safe
With your hands, you remind me that you are always there for me and have been
With your touch, you soothe me and my anxiety fades like an old photo
With your love, you make me feel more loved than I ever dreamt

1 Hour.
The first of many.
An hour alone with him.

Talking with me
Smiling and laughing
All of his quirks
Without anyone else stealing his gaze

I get to bask in all of him
And show him
What being with me is like

1 Hour
To show him how to fall in love

Sitting waiting alone in the cold
The coffee stale
A ghost of its prime
She sits holding the cup hiding her tears
As he walks by
Thinking of what could've been
Hows a flower to bloom if you wont give it a chance?
As the winter freezes her heart once more

Of course
Its the soft spoken boy
Who happens to be dancing away
With her fragile heart
The allure is gone
As the crisp rain beats down
And washes away the sparkling
Dreams she had about him
Dancing the night away
Just once
But she can’t have what she wants
She’s so spoiled

Soft, pink, and fragile
The wild-flower does grow
Against the current