I looked on as an elderly man was painting an old farm house in oils, surrounded by trees dressed in their autumn finery. The house was shown as an aged and faded white surrounded by a low picket fence that had fallen into disrepair and long since been forgotten. The old dilapidated barn in the distance was expressed in varying shades of grey and peeling red paint. I was enraptured by the image I was seeing unfold before my eyes. It appeared to be such a simple piece, but it grew in complexity the longer I viewed it. Its underlying tones were of sadness and loneliness, time, and things forgotten. I balked at that, finding my initial assessment woefully inaccurate, this was not a lonely place, a forgotten place; this was a place that had seen life and heard stories! I knew the man had not yet finished with his painting and would not be so for some time. He was quite meticulous, as if he was paining the memories of his life. Every stroke of the brush had its designated place, its own meaning, and the way his hands grabbed absently at the different brushes seemed as if they had been pre-selected before he ever began. As his story was being narrated in layers of paint and hue, I found myself thinking about what life might have been like in that place he was creating. Who might have lived there? The colors in the painting boasted an autumn season, and though they were warm to the eye the season would have been cold, the growing…slow. No, it wouldn’t have been planting season, it seemed more likely that it would have been hunting season. I imagined game animals in the surrounding hills and a man in a flannel jacket walking silently through those amber colored woods, with rifle in hand and beagles in tow. The frost of his breath echoing the smoke that whispered from the chimney of the house. It would have been warm inside, and maybe children played by the hearth in the day’s early hours before they went reluctantly about their chores under the watchful gaze of a firm, yet loving mother. My thoughts darted to and fro about this painting in the most ridiculous of fashions, seeing people I would never meet, living events that never happened. But I was held to it long enough to allow my imagination to escape, and for a while, frolic freely with the idea of something beautifully simple.  I left the elderly man to his work as I carried on about my day, thinking to myself all the while that if a picture is worth a thousand words, a painting is an unread novel.

Icy fingers that touch your thoughts from a distance let you know in an instant that it was me and I was there. There, where I lingered freely in your inner most secret feelings, twisted them into doubts and fears. Echoed in the sound of your tears as they ran down your face in their race to the ground, slamming violently down without a sound without a sound. So draw near! I am the lover hater you fear yet hold dear. The secret that you knew all along, containing all the right answers gone horribly wrong. In a song I have kept you lost in the promise and hope of passion so lasting, delivering emotional lashing after lashing after lashing for the taste of tears that I savor. For I am the dream breaker, the beautiful monster who decieves to recieve that which I do not deserve. Keeping my song bird locked in the cage, break away and escape the fate! Run fleet of foot fleeing from these outstreched arms of an empty being until you reach the place where you were meant to be, get away from me and sing the songs you were meant to sing.

He sat there, head bowed, back bent and silent. His tail still and tucked away, unmoving, to show he wasn’t violent. I called him toward the kennel door, to sniff at the back of my hand, and then rubbed his scruffy head as a bond was formed between a dog and a man. He was *****, he was frightened, and I was sure he was covered with fleas, but his big brown eyes with unshed tears were crying in a silent “please.” As I rubbed his ears he wagged his tail, unnoticeable at first, but hope began to grow in him like the nagging of a quiet thirst. I had papers to sign before we left behind those walls of brick and plaster, but I understood I didn’t choose; it was the dog that chose his master. That day I saved a dog from death, he became my friend for many years, all for a little food, some bones, and some loving rubs behind the ears.

There is an animal that you love of course, you know her as the pink unicorn dolphin horse. You’ve never really seen her but you know she must me real, because of the way she makes you smile, and the way she makes you feel. There’s no fake thing I know of that has the power to do that yet, so just keep drawing her the way you want, with your little crayon set. Then put her in the kitchen so she’ll never be alone, on the front door of our fridge, which has become her permanent home. I’m always pleased to see the little drawings that you made, I show them to my friends when they come over to watch the game. They will always be here waiting as the years shall come to pass, because you’ll soon go off to school, then college, I guess kids grow up too fast. One day you’ll have your own house and a family of your own, so I wrote this down so you wouldn’t forget, I guess I had to make it known. I’ll always be your Daddy, my door will always be open of course, so you can come home anytime and see your pink unicorn dolphin horse.

Lighting fires in a tempest heart, the burn I so well know. Seeker of sun, run, take flight to evade the edge of your own razor tounge! While I, betrayed by the red hot blade of your words, found my fate. That I came this far just to feel your hate. So close did I stand so long unnoticed, a man of stone, using smiles to hide my broken bones.

You can always tell which kids come from military families.

Incoming rockets
Falling
Down
            Down
                        Down
To the US Army Barracks
Where they
Pound
            Pound
                        Pound
And the people scared and screaming
From the
Sound
            Sound
                        Sound
Of the
BOOM!
                 BOOM!
                                  BOOM!
Are running
Round
            Round
                        Round
Some people started yelling
HIT THE
GOUND!
                    GROUND!
                                          GROUND!
But for some it was too late
They looked like
Cheap
            Ground
                          Round
We answered in like kind
And bombed the
Town
            Town
                       Town
Until the smoke had cleared
And bodies could be
Found
            Found
                        Found
When the fight was over
They gave the
All
            Clear
                         Sound
So we all went back to bed
So we could
Lay
         Back
                   Down

It was in the earlier part of November, 2005 when I was called to the garrison HQ to receive an emergency Red Cross message informing me that my grandfather had passed away. I was in my third year of service as a direct contractor to the Army and my duty station was in Iraq. More specifically, I was at Tallil AFB near the city of An Nasiriyah. I was granted an emergency leave so that I could go back to the US to be with my family so I stowed my gear, packed my duffel and made the long trip home. This was the first time I would make this trip, but I’m getting ahead of myself so let me back up a bit. You see, my grandfather had served in the Second World War, actually both of them had. They were brothers. PFC Eddie Kassab, the one I’m speaking about here, had survived WWII through some pretty tough odds, including being on the third wave of the Normandy invasion at D-Day where thousands had died during the beach head assault. His brother, SFC Joseph Kassab, who married my grandmother, was killed in that war, He was a bombardier and his plane was shot down during the Guadalcanal campaign. It wasn’t until 27 years later that the wreckage of the aircraft and remains were found and recovered. When Joseph died leaving behind his young wife and new born son, Eddie began looking after her, sending home money for her and the boy, my father. They wrote back and forth to eachother after the dissappearance of Joseph and when he returned to the US after the war they courted and were eventually married. Joseph was laid to rest with the rest of his flight crew in Arlington with full military honors. Eddie, who died much later in life, was also afforded a military service there. That was my first time being in Arlington National Cemetery, a place reserved for men and women who had served their country in a military capacity. It is difficult to describe just how immense and powerful that place is, the impact you have on your life just from standing on those grounds is indescribable. If I had to try I would say it’s a mixed feeling of Honor, pride, sorrow, and a profound sense of loneliness. There are row upon row of white marble markers spanning miles of emerald green grass and broad shade trees. The markers themselves are simple, nothing fancy, but the respect they command is beyond contestation. There are also wall vaults for those who were cremated, one of these would become Eddie’s final resting place. The US Army's honor guard performed his service, while a trumpeter played “Taps” and his flag was folded and presented on behalf of a grateful nation to my father who Eddie raised as his own son. In the distance a 21 gun salute was given by seven riflemen firing three shots each. It would be the only time in my life that I saw my father cry. We took the time after Eddie’s service to walk to Joseph’s grave marker as well, passing thousands of other markers and I found myself wondering how many of these people were forgotten by the years. How many of them left behind young children. Were they killed in combat? How many of them were laid to rest with a grave full of unfulfilled dreams? The sacrifices they made weighed heavily upon me. It was a feeling I would carry with me long after I had left that place.
Years had passed and I found myself still working in Iraq for the US Army, I was stationed at Camp Taji this time, on the edge of Sadr City, a real dust bowl. I was in my eighth year of service when I was again called to Garrison HQ, another emergency Red Cross message had come through informing me that my Father had passed away. It was December 29th 2010. For hours afterward it felt as if I had been punched in the gut. I called my Mom as soon as I could to make sure she was ok and to see if there was anything she needed before making arrangements for yet another emergency leave. I again stowed my gear, packed my duffel and headed out. Now, it’s only fair to give you an idea of whom I’m talking about here, my Father, Jan, had been a Navy man and had been stationed on submarines as well as destroyer class ships during the Vietnam War. He signed up for service when he was just 18 years old and when he left the Navy he went directly into the Maitland Fire Department in central Florida and stayed there for many years. Eventually he expanded his training becoming the 80th paramedic in the state as well as a certified rescue diver and instructor. More importantly, he was a great father who raised two boys as a father should and later in life, he was a pretty good drinking buddy. His teachings and advice have helped me through some of the toughest times in my life. It was because of his prior military service that he was also awarded full military honors at Arlington National Cemetery. There was a waiting list of about 8 weeks at the time because of the high volume of casualties from the wars in the Middle East so it wasn’t until February of 2011 that he was finally laid to rest. This time it was the US Navy’s honor guard who performed his service. I remember it well; they stood in their dress whites throughout the ceremony in the biting cold as the wind whipped by mercilessly.  The honor and discipline in these men was no less than awe inspiring and through my sadness I couldn’t help but feel an amazing sense of pride for who my father was during his life. We all stood as a trumpeter again played “Taps” to the folding of my Father’s flag which was presented to my Mom on behalf of a grateful nation after a 21 gun salute was ordered in the distance. My Father’s remains were also placed in a wall vault that became his final resting place; his marker being only about 20 feet from Eddie’s marker in the adjacent wall and even though it was freezing that day, we took a little extra time to visit Eddie and Joseph again. Walking the grounds of that place again awakened all the feelings I had felt the first time, probably even more so. Again, I have to tell you that words couldn’t accurately describe how that place makes you feel. The grass had turned brown by now but was still immaculately manicured, and the precision placement of the grave markers was flawless. There were thousands of names that dated all the way back to the American Civil War. I went also with my brother to pay my respects at the tomb of the Unknown Soldier. It was an impressive mausoleum that is guarded twenty four hours a day by the US Army’s horror guard.  After it was all said and done and we had left Arlington and met as a family, my Mom, my Brother and his family, myself and my family and some close friends to remember him for a while over some food and drinks, and though nobody seemed to really have any appetite we still stayed there for hours. That was the first time in eight years that I had seen my Brother and would be the last time I saw him alive, but that part comes later. Eventually we said our goodbyes and went our separate ways, each having a very long way to travel back home and I had to get ready to go back to Iraq, heavy hearted or not.
I had only been back in theater (that means deployment) for a few months when I was reassigned to Al Asad AB as my permanent duty station. It was a place in the middle of nowhere and was originally a Marine base but transferred to Army and Air Force some time in 2010. I had made some good friends there, settled in and finally started coming back to myself when I received a message from my brother’s wife asking me to call her, said it was important. Thinking back on it now, I remember feeling a little angry that she wouldn’t tell me on email. Internet I had in my room, but a phone…well I’m no general and I had already settled in for the night. It was about 21:30 hrs. (9:30 p.m.) on a night in late July so I got dressed and made the quarter mile walk to my office where I could use the phone, cursing under my breath the whole time. It took me about 20 minutes just to find my phone card in my cluttered desk drawer, but when  I finally did amongst more unsavory mutterings I made the call. She answered quickly enough but her voice sounded strained so I calmed down and asked her what was going on, I figured something wasn’t right so she didn’t need me jumping her case on top of it. It was then that she told me my Brother’s body had been found in his home in Whiteville NC. He had been having a hard time with depression since our Father passed as well as marital problems and he had made the decision to take his own life at the age of 36 leaving behind his Wife, Stepson and Daughter who was only 5 at the time. I was blindsided to say the least, no one saw this coming, and he left no real reason as to why so there still is no closure, no understanding. I was angry… no, I was furious! But I’m getting ahead of myself again. She had called me not only to inform me of what had happened, but also to ask if I had Mom’s phone number because she didn’t have it and didn’t know how to get in touch with her to tell her. I told her not to worry about it and that I’d take that on my shoulders and get back to her. It had only been five months since we laid our Father to rest and to say I dreaded making that phone call was a ridiculous understatement. It was easily one of the toughest things I ever had to do, but it had to be done all the same so I dug Mom’s number out of my wallet…and stared at it…I don’t know how long but it felt like a long time. What else could I do? What could I say? It’s not like I had an instruction booklet for delivering bad news and this was as bad as it gets. After a few deep breaths I dialed her number and decided to take the direct approach. She answered the phone and we exchanged hellos, and I asked her what she was doing. She was out shopping with Robbie at the Tractor Supply Co. He was a longtime family friend and all around good guy. I told her that I had some pretty bad news and asked if she could find a place to sit down there, but she told me it was ok to just tell her what happened so I did exactly that. I gave her all the information I had at the time, I didn’t know how to sugar coat it so I didn’t. She took it pretty well up front, not breaking down until later that evening. My Brother, SPC Troy Kassab, had enlisted in the US Army with our Father’s permission when he was only 17 years old. He was a combat medic assigned to Ft. Carson in Colorado before transferring to the 82nd Airborne Division in Ft Brag NC. He deployed to Cuba among other deployments overseas before being attached to a Ranger Unit as their medic and doing other deployments that he never would talk about much. After the army he lived in NC where he worked in restaurants while attending school on the G.I bill and volunteering on the Hickory Rescue Squad as an EMT. He eventually completed school in Winston Salem NC where he got his PA degree in general practice. Troy was a self-educated, brilliant man who wasn’t perfect but who is? He saved lives in the Army, and then continued to do so in the civilian world until his death in July of 2011. He was a husband and a father, a brother and a friend. He was important to us. It was because of his past in the Army that he also was awarded full military honors at Arlington National Cemetery. This time the wait was much longer and his funeral wasn’t held until November 15th of 2011. I remember that day and the days leading up to it like it was yesterday. I had ended my deployment in Iraq on November 3rd, making it back to the US on November 6th. From the time of his death I had stayed in contact with Mom and his wife Andi to make sure they were ok and help in any way I could with the affairs and expenses. When I finally did get home I pulled my truck out of storage had it inspected, fueled and ready to go. It was unfortunate, but my wife was in college and had work at the time so she couldn’t come with us so my daughter and I made the long trip from Houston TX to Hickory NC to see Troy’s wife and kids. While I was there I also picked up a close family friend of ours who needed a ride and made the long drive to Arlington VA...again. The US Army’s honor guard met us there to perform his service and again the attention to detail, the respect given to the deceased, and the discipline shown was flawless. There were more friends this time than family in attendance but I was there with Mom, Robbie, my daughter, and some very close family friends, some going all the way back to our childhood. The ceremony was the same, every time the same. I remember thinking I hated the way “Taps” sounded as they folded the flag and I was angry and hurt when I stepped forward to claim my Brother’s remains and walk them to the wall vault that would become his final resting place. I have to say though, that through my grief and anger, I was a little bit pleased to see that he was placed so close to my Father and Grandfather. I left a pair of my own dog tags in his vault, it made me feel better that he wouldn’t be alone in there. I guess it doesn’t make a lot of sense now but at the time it did.  I stood over his marker and said a silent prayer before heading out to see Dad, Eddie and Joe’s markers and pay some respects. The grass was that brilliant emerald green again, and the sense that I stood in a place of honor reserved for our nations fallen still struck me through the heart.  After that we just kind of faded away from that place making our way home. Troy’s wife Andi had decided not to come, she was angry, she felt betrayed and abandoned, so on my way home I stopped back in Hickory NC, dropped off Michelle and made the drive to Andi’s house to present her with Troy’s flag as it had been presented to me. I remember hoping that her decision wouldn’t leave her with later regrets, but it was too late to change it now. The drive home was a long one, one that rekindled so many unanswered questions. Three generations of my family laid to rest leaving me as the only surviving male member of my family; something that still weighs upon my heart today.
But this is their story, and though it seems a sad one, that is not its intent. This story was written so that you the reader could understand that there is a place where over a hundred thousand Josephs and Eddies, and Jans and Troys are resting.  Each one of those stone crosses and stars have a face, a name, a history, and they made a sacrifice for you and for me. They were people who gave up their futures so that we could have one. They were people who had dreams, families, and who put all of that aside for what they believed in. They weren’t perfect people, but they deserve to be remembered. If you do nothing else after reading this, at least take the time to think about the freedoms that you have, freedoms that have cost us so much…

I'm an average Joe living in an average home. I have a common personality that’s not commonly known. I’ve never done anything special in life, in fact, I’ve sometimes felt like zero. But when you became my sword, and my shield, and my armor…then I became your hero.

Sing to me a story of a thousand hungry knives, and a thousand innocent backs, and a thousand angry lies. Then sing me the destruction of a thousand mangy lives, the broken hearts that bled for nothing through a thousand crying eyes.  The river of tears created was a thousand miles wide, and you could swim to your death in your vainest efforts never reaching the other side. There is no escape from what these knives do, no place to run and hide. So sing to the music you must face, or you will die without your pride. Because when the knives are ravenous they’ll have their taste, but it won't be from the front or the side.

I have become lost in a vision that was once never mine to have; a thought unseen, as in a dream that was never shared. But I was there because I dared. Or so I dared to believe, and thus was left to bereave, in whole, for the death of my hopeful, emptying soul. Yet the pen well knows these secrets which flow through my hands. As blood from fingertips pours black unto the inked page of the history we write for ourselves, left dusty and forgotten, on forgotten shelves, and in forgotten times. Such was the blindness of my eyes as I ran through thickets of whispers, unafraid, I the unshackled slave who stayed; biding my time, binding in rhyme, my poisonous thoughts. For what have I left, save for portentous doubts; that once shouted, fall upon deaf ears? Fears dripping from muted lips, flowing through clenched teeth, hand in hand with the silent promises never made. A foundation of jade that supports the sky, for there were no walls built in the becoming of I.

I saw it there in the dusty corner of the thrift store, forgotten for so long. Seeing it there was a lot like looking at my own life in a way. It was a little bit older for a guitar and it was worn from years of use; the strings were also a little rusty and probably out of tune, but it was beautiful that way. It struck me as such a lonely sight; to see something that used to be so joyful, now dressed in its fine film of dust particles and abandonment. I could only imagine the stories it had to tell; stories that were locked away behind that wood grain. If you’ve ever looked at the face of an old man you didn’t know, you would understand what I mean. The old yellowed price tag tied to one of the tuning keys said five dollars and I had about that much so I pulled up a tattered old ottoman, picked up the guitar, blew off some of the dust and took a seat.  I tuned it up real quick and let my fingers pluck at the strings a little before playing a few songs. We were two old men reliving our past that way for a time. I knew then that I had already made my decision, digging in my pocket as I headed towards the counter, five bucks it said, small price to pay for being remembered.

I wear this camouflage so that I can blend in. Khakis, and a sweater, and some loafers and then…I dissolve into this city, into its dreary streets. An unnoticeable part of this life set on repeat. I don’t want to be noticed, I don’t want to matter. I just want to blend in to these lonely sleep patterns, and this rhythm of a city that has no reason. Time after time and season after season, but I was there, carefully camouflaged to match the despair, seen in the eyes of everyone else. Everyone whose life was left perched on a shelf to collect more dust. Though, it would seem that they call it dreams. I call it what it seems, life put on hold for a city so bold that everyone wants a chance to hold that candle flame.  Shaped like a dream of music, or of fame that falls lame as their hands become cracked and bleeding from washing so many dishes while their wishes become fleeting. Then reality sets in, and another one falls to join the rest of us denizens. Welcome new guy, I have a surprise, here are your khakis, sweater, loafers and plastic smile. Don’t you worry, you’ll get used to them after a while. In a lifeless city with a lifeless heartbeat, you’ll learn to blend in to this day to day defeat. It hits everyone after all, and there’s really no way to dodge. So now that you know, don’t forget to wear your camouflage.

Boogey Man

When I was a young boy, I had a fright
That Monsters would come out at night
And that they’d eat me, I was sure!
But my parents helped me to endure

They showed me while the lights were on
That the Monsters were all gone
In fact they had never really been
So off to bed I should go again

But sleep did not come easily
And I would lay awake nightly
Wide eyed, hiding under the covers
Until exhaustion won eventually

In the morning I would awake to find
That it had all been in my mind
And that there was nothing to really fear
So I grew up believing it clear

Then I went to school one day
And bought all the lies the teachers gave
In fact the older I got in life
The less I saw with my own eyes

I got a job that would make me a man
Where I ended up deployed to foreign lands
And in the wars of Iraq and Afghanistan
I saw the terrible nature of man against man

Those visions hit me across the face like a smack
In fact I’d say they brought me back
All the way to the days of my youth
Where suddenly I realized the truth

That Monsters are very real you see
They walk and talk
Just like you and me.

I have become the ocean of bad ideas and halfhearted attempts that laps at your shores and beckons for you to come and get your feet wet, wading in the tides. Won’t you come in for a swim? My sharks don’t bite much, unless they’re angry and the jellyfish aren’t poisonous until they find you naked and exposed. My surging waves surround the tiny island of your reason and become all that you see because I’m all you’re looking for at this moment...you’ve blinded yourself to better opportunities…I am the truth you won’t face or find out about until later. You know what I’m talking about lady. I’m the tattooed “Bad Boy” sitting across from you, the one who excites you. The one you can’t take your eyes away from long enough to see the “Good Guy” sitting in the corner.

I only wanted you to sing to me in the voice of your sweetest destruction, burning my cities to the ground that we may waltz across the ashes of places we’ve never been.

I wanted to sip from your words like a poisonous wine, poured into my mouth from your gilded chalice’s venomous kiss.

For you have become the rose whose thorns rend my palms and the crimson that seeps forth is the seed from which we have cultivated the cruel garden of our pure intentions.

Be wary of the serpents that tarry hence, for the wounds they inflict are grievous.

Meanwhile, I, enshrouded in my self-inflicted intoxication have seen you hide your eyes among the stars of the night sky.

Veiled by the outstretched wings of passerine birds whose songs do bear witness to the echo of our temperate patience.

Was it a dream?

In truth, did you flee from this brittle stage of glass, where our actors spoke the lines in time to our subtle rebellions?

Nay, it must not be so, for you were always there.

As close to the light of day as the night sky, the lovers that never touched, yet you were always there.

Break dawn to tear the sky in fire and herald the coming day! Blood red dancing clouds, heads bowed to the songs of birds as they scream, angry in their cries. Feathers torn on wings beating skies soar perilously in sorrow. For the birth of the day foretells of its death and the coming of tomorrow. Linger, linger and laugh in times borrowed, hours despised that what we hold temporarily are lies all lies! Our lives are but tears in a child’s eyes that come and go as a tide ebbs and flows. Then retreats from the shore leaving us so much sand, the broken glass on which we stand shaking for the promises forsaken. Shaking for the cold truth taken that we fade in our time as grapes wither on the vine and enemy time laughs with cruel revelry. Merry in our ignorance of what we see painted on the horizon.

I can’t write with crippled hands
But I have to express this prose
These thoughts have to get out somehow
So I’m typing with my nose

Laugh if you will, or if you must
At my determination and steely guts
But either way I’m out of my rut
As these words flow out in rows

And maybe you’ll like what I have to say
So sit back and enjoy the show
Because even if I can’t write with crippled hands
I can still type with my nose!

When I was a boy, about ten years old
I wanted to be a Ninja
A killer, stone cold

So I would go to my room
To practice my secret moves
Against imaginary opponents
Who were sure to lose

I would even dress all in black
For the really epic fights
Then throw my plastic Ninja stars
And quickly turn off the lights

I was a master of stealth
Ready to take on the world
Using my Ninja weapons
To save pretty girls

With wooden sword in hand
And steely guts…

I had to come back to reality
Because mom brought home doughnuts!

I caught myself thinking today about life and the way we live it. The different exit signs we place here and there for our safety as we navigate our existence. We place them on relationships, jobs, and hard times. They make us feel better somehow. Having an exit strategy or a way out, not feeling trapped all the time. If you were to pay attention you would see them too, maybe in your own life, or the lives of others. They are everywhere. Yet, they are only immediately visible to the person who put them there. To everyone else, they are naught but a hind sight. I have lived long enough to place my own, and sadly see those placed by others. What I didn’t see, was the distance of someone as they were moving away. What I failed to see in time was that they were heading towards an exit sign.

Walk the minefeilds of truth and face the dangers; with clear blue eyes under clear blue skies. Light up the fatal mile with your smile and know I was there before you. I walked the ground lost, searching for you at all cost and step by step, I fell to the danger. I the enemy, you the stranger.

I walked barefoot across the nameless tiles, littered with remnants of the stained glass windows of my broken dreams. I walked for lifetimes, or so it seems, over the twisted kaleidoscope of my wishful thinking and failures. Embracing the pain in the hopes that such beautiful shards would leave beautiful wounds. The footprints left in blood were my history scrawled across the nightingale floor, like so many broken swords washed upon the shore, forgotten by the hands of slain warriors in their rusted armor and bones. Left alone with nowhere to go, when you were the home I came to know. Those stone walls that sheltered me from the cold protecting the ragged edges of my tattered soul, which long since crumbled to dust. Leaving me exposed to the graceful storm, the whipping wind and driving rain. This is my life, this beautiful history of pain.

My mind is dangerous I tell you!
Vast and deep…
Like a mud puddle
After a summer rain
Full of tadpoles
And dreams…
Be careful how you enter here
Lest you suffer the consequences
Of wet feet
And muddy shoes.

I am fallen
Like dark angels
Feathers burning

Laid to rest in passions killing fields

I am the sacrifice
On an altar of silk
Slaughter the lamb

I am the skin you touch
With razorblade fingers

Cut down the chains of defense
March to the gates of my desire
And burn them to the ground.

Let loose the hounds
Gnashing teeth
And bite to break skin
Taste the pain sweet

Strike the strings of the body acoustic
And play the concert
On a trembling stage of tensed flesh
Muscles aching

Straining

Pulling

Surrendering

Play the concert
Play minstrel play!

Rise the tempo
Rise the rythm
And spark the fire
In a room darker than black
With flaming sappire eyes

Burning blue suns that stare at the soul

Hands that bind hands
Fingers laced
Palm against palm bodies touch
Glistening sweat

Breath against skin
Hot as white ice,
Chest against breast

Whisper a dream to me
In a shaking voice
Tremble
Cry out
Collapse exhausted

Turn your head
Look in my eyes,
Look deeply and see me
Look deeper and save me
Burn brightly in the eyes
Of your fallen Sinner

Ferry your troops into the fray, watch them as they fall, remember where they lay. That they answered your call willingly, with the courage to obey. The beasts of men, with shattered bodies, broken then decayed. As their booted feet trample ****** earth, these soldiers march nameless and forgotten into the endless grey...

I found myself looking in the mirror again,
I wanted so much to admire who I saw there
So I started looking for reasons to

I knew I had to be honest with him
He was looking right at me after all
So I had to be fair in my comparisons
Of good and bad things that made up my life

I counted them off, the good and the bad
I have to admit I wasn’t pleased with the results
I guess it could have been worse though

I made the resolution then
To do more good things in my life
Change, after all
Doesn’t have to be a slow, painful process
All it takes is the initial decision
And a little courage…
A thing not easy to come by

But possible

I promised to come back to that mirror
After some time
And check with that guy again
Hoping my results would be a little bit better
When I checked within myself
And looked at who I had become

And I kept finding myself thinking
Have you looked in the mirror lately?
I mean really looked?  
Did you admire who you saw there?
Because it’s never too late
To change…

I reached into the night and touched the sky as a star fell heavy into this untrusted land. I caught it in my hand and it hit me at the speed of fright. I outstretched my palm to see this cradled light, this heat, it was a heart and I knew its hesitant beat through my bones. it was my own. Though it had blue eyes through which true beauty shone.  Its red hair so fair and fine wasn't mine, it wasn't mine but it's song was the same, it had a name. By chance it did dance a delicate ballet into my soul. I knew instantly then that I was made whole and that scars could subside with the healing of wounds. This gift, this boon, was without end in this delicate friend. Who whispered softy as the doves and touched me with a love so clean that I knew I was walking in a waking dream.

Cling to hope, frail as it were, even steal it if you must, and from every corner of every dusty room remember! The memory of those things, long forgotten, those paintings of rust, which left to time, became the ruined dances of moths and canvas. Or perhaps they were the chances we so desperately longed for, gone the way of all fleeting things, to take back the laughter of the child of spring. Listen carefully, as the echoes sing and the sun blond hair so fair in its youth brings a smile so fair in the truth, under the tone the ticking clock rings. Count slowly the second hand whispers, seconds as scriptures till the hour departs. Draw me pictures inside pictures of broken hearts, with broken crayons from a box with a broken lid, just like you did when we were broken kids.  Just like the arguments our parents hid, to spare injury to our glee, now you disagree, and then admit defeat with me. Look through the eyes of someone else and see so many things I hate in me. Yet we cling to these things desperately, with failing hands, afraid to let go, afraid of the holes they’ll leave in our soul. They’re now lost to us, leaving us cold, or is it simply our loss of control, like a fist full of sand. The rivulets that pour through the crevices of the fingers of our empty hands, leaving only the few grains that linger for the empty man who stands on legs of strength borrowed, in the hopes that his memories may survive the morrow.

Impossible things seem to us like unreachable dreams, as we look upon them with shining eyes but never try. Then comes along a courageous one, to do the deed that cannot be done, and say to us without regret, it’s only impossible because you haven’t done it yet.

Fortress heart
Guard your ramparts
And lock your gates
Shiver behind your defenses from fate

The pain and hate
That hewn these walls for your protection
Offer only the chance for reflection
And the avoidance of pain

Though fear walks with no name
Among these hallowed halls
With hymn and whisper

"no one may enter here"
It says in the dream
"It's dangerous"
"It hurts"
"I'm afraid"
"NO ONE MAY ENTER HERE!"
It screams

So it goes on
And so it seems
That beat after lifeless beat
The impenatrable stone home
To the heart afraid of pain
But desperate not to be alone moans

It wails
In the elegant jail
Of it's own design

Sail the ship of want through the shimmering sea of sand, the lonely expanse that leads to nothing, going nowhere hand in hand. The Captain calls to crewless timbers, the empty decks the fractured hearts remember, and the path is shown in a star's burning embers, churning crimson where we stand.

I poured the gas and you struck the match and we danced in the satin flames of billowed sheets and romance. Meeting touch with touch, in feather light mercy and a scent of leather, teathers to bind wrists twisted and silk ribbon blind. Out of our minds! Driven mad by a daring caress, the words repeated, "yes," "yes," "YES!!" And dare for more than this! Touched bodies writhe with each burning kiss, each passion taken, given, stolen and cry out! Body on body heavy, break the levy and let flow the river! Back arched bending to the giver in the rising heat, moan, tense, collapse and repeat until the fire is doused in the flood of our exstacy, seen by the light of the rising sun from the window next to me.

Grasp life!

Cling to it as you would grasp a flower with many thorns.

Hold tightly its beauty,
And its pain,
As your reward for the chances you have taken in desperation.

Drink freely from the wound, the blood of the terrified heart,
That crimson badge that defiles the bold sanctity of our innocence!

And fear not the nightmares,
The blame,
The doubt,
The anger,
Hold high the heavy head in its weary and furrowing brow.

Taste the blood of your own bitten tongue,
Drink it down, hot and bitter sweet,
Savoring it behind teeth of madness in a silently screaming mouth.

And yet neither tis not life nor love that bears the pain!

Tis I, the dream!

Shattered by the hammers of false gods.
This chalice that stood once in glistening its pride,
Reduced now to uncertain shards of hope.

The betrayer's shards,
Taken to form and cast thusly unto the ***** of the unwary and the fool,
Striking into those who survive,
The unforgiving blow.

War is its result.

On a fierce battlefield of emotions, born in the heart,
Where weather matters not against the cold torment that is only found inside.

So tremble,
And shiver,
And rightly so that you should!
For you are no different than he,
Nor she,
Nor I.

That you should not feel and bear witness to the sorrows
Served in generous portions at the table of lies.

In as much that you did indeed eat and drink your fill from the plentiful bounty,
You who also found your satiated fulfillment there in,
With each ravenous bit taken.

Another year has past, and shattered the molds from which we have been cast. Never to tread upon that sweet ground again in our race to our final days counting the calendar from beginning to end. I'll meet you there in that place if you win, dear brother, dear sister and dearest of friends. That you knew you were carved in the stone of my heart never forsaken and never apart, no matter the details... Lives change lives, and a soul touched once can never be the same, never be tame or forgotten.

Rest in Peace Dad 1:45 a.m. 29-Dec-2010

Happy New Tears!

I listened to my heart…

When it shook with fear, as its scars sung the songs of yesterday.

I listened to my heart…

Pounding in my ears like chaos in a silent symphony.
It screeched as it broke apart, fragmented pieces shorn and twisted.
Tearing away as it sank into the cold abyss.
The rusted wreckage of a once great ship, forgotten beneath a greater sea.

I listened to my heart…

It whispered “My God” when I saw you.
When I was so afraid to take the last of a hundred second chances.
Tear down my defenses and trust again.
Try again to live only in this moment, this time without the armor, without the hesitation.

I listened to my heart…

As it became attached to yours, running blindly into a new forest.
Chasing the footprints of wolves.
Two worlds that were meant to collide and become one big mess together.
The inseparable pieces of one existence.

I listened to my heart…

On that day you took my hand, dressed in white and promises.
I spoke the words “I do, I love you”.
They flowed across my lips like liquid, like a prayer I was unworthy of saying.
It was the day I began to live again, and I said your name as you took mine.

I listened to my heart…

In the years to pass, looking back on my life as it was, and as it is.
Lying next to you, enshrouded by the dark silk of night skies.
I took you in my arms, laid my head upon your chest.

I listened to your heart.

I have a home,
It is my safe place and my refuge
Where truth lives freely
And where trust is currency

It is the table
Where meals are shared
With extra servings of joy
And washed down with laughter

Located in a place called love
Where it never rains
And though it can be cloudy at times
The sun shines through in the end

And music plays there
In the form of conversations
And silly jokes
That makes me smile often

So yes, I have a home,
Not because I bought a building
Of wood and bricks and mortar
But because I married a friend.

They say that the eyes are the windows to the soul, that’s what they say any way.

Thinking back to my days as a child, I remember my grandmother’s house and the times I spent there with my brother. I remember so many things about those days. My grandmother had lost her husband before I was born, and had replaced him with a bottle of bourbon. The bottle was in every memory I had of that place, like a picture on the wall or a specific piece of furniture and she was always cooking something or canning something for people who never visited.  Her life seemed so sad at times, but what stood out were her eyes. To me they always seemed like looking through the broken windows of an old ramshackle home and watching children laugh and play on the ***** living room floor.

They say that they eyes are the windows to the soul, that’s what they say any way.

Wake up to a sunrise...
Or rain

Have a cup of coffee...
Or tea

Share breakfast with a loved one...
Or alone

Go about your day
In all it’s wonderful...
Or terrible ways

Live your life
Love
Hate
Cry
Laugh
Be

Congratulations!
Without a single written word
You have just created a wonderful poem...

Or become one.

Whisper like the leaves of autumn, falling to rivers flowing behind the kiss of lovers. The wind whipping hushed secrets from their branches in the color of gold and fire. The color of desire, burning behind the embrace of a decades undying promises, life, passion and truth told in the timing...

Those who know pain know my name
They cast doubts
Hide in shame
And lay blame

They know my name
They know my name

Unspoken thoughts
like words on the page
Though they fade
Stay the same

They whisper
They whisper
They're screaming my name!

Cold and stained
From the tears
Cold and stained
From the rain

Elements of emotion
that show no restrain
Break the chains
And flee

Brittle parchment
The cracked and torn remains
Of a life remembered.

Eyes lost to silken darkness
Sold in trade to skin's sensation
I feel the touch of cherry lips
As soft as day dreams kissing the wind

Quicken the breath and exhale shaking
Body shuddering
Trembling

Strong hands gripping soft flesh
Gently
Hungry
Starving
Ten lonely wolves running cautiously
Through forests unknown
Blindly moving

Dancing to tomorrow's song of yesterday
Embracing bodies kissing deeply
Lost to the moment
There is nothing else

Only this

Only now

Only you

Soft hands glide across my skin
The satin sharks that swim the expanse of me
Devour me gracefully

Desires burning in wild eyes
Black blind flames and uncontrolled breath
Shivering hot skin
Pounding heart

Control long lost
To arousal
And crushing need

I want to go faster
Faster!
Shifting gears!

Rev the motor
Pop the clutch
And spin the rear!

Faster
Faster
Faster!
From this burning city

Choking on the smog
Of doubt
And self-pity

Faster
Faster
Faster!
Till I get away

Chasing the sun rise
To break a new day

And maybe I can make it
I can get away
If I can just go faster
Faster
Break the chains!

Faster
Faster
Faster!
Every thing’s a blur

But the memories
They haunt me
As I start to swerve

I was almost there
I could’ve made it
Going so fast!

Faster
Faster
Faster!
No more looking’ back!

And just as I was almost free
Escaping my past
I realized that
I had to stop for ******* gas.

A vision so lovely,
A chior of angels songs,
Swimming in broken glass.
Reflected in dark lonely eyes,
A heart peircing stare.

Vulnerable at a glance
And in a word, powerless.

What fragile beauty
That binds my thoughts
Completely,
Trapped in this gaze of wonder.

Cry like rain drowning deepest sorrows and fly broken butterfly, wings of steel colliding. The heart's unsung sonnet of pain, a song of refrain in a concert of anger rising! Burning and seething the broken heart's bleeding for the one left behind, left alone but surviving.

Thirty pieces of Judas, seller of sons. Why do you run betrayer? Silver trust severed and scatter to marble steps, for a slaves wage to be paid! Unafraid for your friends as they slept, betrayed, as you left. Soon to die, rope to tree tied, you then ponder how a peaceful man becomes the original monster.

Drag the cast away chains and shackle the dreams of beauty to hunger and sorrow. Furrow the earth, iron manacles and rattle your warnings, ****** hands dripping yesterdays blood on tomorrow. Panic, frenzy, and scream the sparrows song; from a hunter's whispering lips, hunter's heart, hunter hollow...

Angry Onion of doom
Teeth that eat the tomato
Laugh in your bowl of spaghetti

Cuddly sheep
Eat the lions and weep
In front of the candy store

Bored circus clowns
Faces painted
With laughing frowns
Drive away in your fancy car

Have I gone too far?
Has it sunk in and made sense
Or have I lost all sense meaning?
Just like politics.

I’d like to introduce myself to you today,

I’m Joe Nobody.

You’ve seen me before, I’ve worked for you for years.
I was the crossing guard at your children’s school.
I was your janitor; I emptied your trash and mopped your floors.
I delivered your goods by truck or took away your garbage on Sunday.
I delivered your mail in the rain.
And you never even knew my name, but that’s ok.

See, I’m not special like you,
I’m just plain old Joe Nobody

I don’t drive a Mercedes; I drive a beat up old Dodge.
You wear Armani suits and my clothes are sort of hodge-podge.
But my hands know the feeling of an honest day’s work.
And no one in my life ever said “That guy’s a ****!”
My pockets aren’t full, but what’s there was earned with honor.
So with that I’m off to the store to buy supper for my daughter.

I’m not looking for anything special, no big fancy type of ordeal,
Just a box of mack-n-cheese, some veggies, and some veal.
Maybe a small piece of that cake they had on display.
Then I’m off to the register, goods in hand and ready to pay.  
“Hello Julie, how are you doing? How was your day?”
She smiled that I remembered her name, and that I cared enough to ask.
See she was helping me just then, though we’re just regular folks.

Not special like you.

I pulled up in front of my small home.
Sure it ain’t much, but it’s warm inside and well lived in
The roof doesn’t leak, not even a bit.
And the fridge is covered in magnets that hold my priceless art collection.
It’s all drawn in crayon and scribbles of course.
Mostly pictures of a pink unicorn dolphin horse.
I still laugh at those…..

I opened the door and walked in to the sweetest voice saying “Daddy’s Home!”
I dropped to a knee, bags in hand to hug an Angel.
I, Mr. Joe Nobody, hugged an Angel today you see.
Maybe you never knew my name; maybe to you I didn’t matter at all.

So I’d like to introduce myself to you today,

See, I am a Father
And in the eyes of the most special little girl,
I’m not simply special like you.
I am a Super Hero!

Johnny, sling your rifle boy and shoulder your weapon well! March in pace with your brothers to the burning gates of hell. Shuffle your feet and hoist your pack, grenades on your chest and ammo in your sack. Still the devil laughs with his heart of black as he ushers you one by one. Single file you walk the final mile with sons fighting fathers, and fathers fighting sons. And which side won? What was the toll? A cost paid of broken bodies and scattered souls for those who dared, those who cared when cities were laid bare. And for those who later cried alone at the sight of burning homes. The smoke burning eyes, stinging tears to atone in the coming years. The fears buried deep turn to nightmare sleep about red running rivers and flames. Awarded metals and ribbons and cheers of fame over death, given, and taken in shame. Yet here we stand one and the same, day after day with a smile. Counting the miles we march, as the devil laughs in single file.

Maybe today will be the day
The day I save the world
The day I save myself
Maybe today will be different
Maybe I’ll rescue children
From a burning building
Maybe I’ll feed the hungry
Maybe I’ll compose a song
That unites humanity
Today the possibilities
Are endless
So maybe
Just maybe
I’ll do something great
Something unimaginably heroic
Or maybe I’ll just shut up
And eat my breakfast.