You sullen pig of a man
you force me into the mud
with your stinking ash-cart!
Brother!
            —if we were rich
we’d stick our chests out
and hold our heads high!
It is dreams that have destroyed us.
There is no more pride
in horses or in rein holding.
We sit hunched together brooding
our fate.

                Well—
all things turn bitter in the end
whether you choose the right or
the left way
                            and—
dreams are not a bad thing.

Praises, whispered to a crowd bred of inanition.
Contempt, unspoken before now unleashed.
Heedless, death the punishment of such temerity.
Withdrawn, kneeling before the grey stone tomb.

"Life can be so strange.
Seconds turn into minutes, hours to days,
weeks to months, months to years.
So many have passed, and our flesh has never touched.
With all this time our lives have gone on,
with my thoughts of you filling the air.
At the same time i day dream, to hope i find you their?
I ask of the wind to deliver my thoughts, as my life runs it's course?
Thoughts do leave minds in search for a home to find.
You, my childhood friend. Can this thought of you ever end?
Will the wind breeze through you,
To have you think of me again?

And I will wait for you
Like the broken glass
of a window
Forgotten, and never fixed

I'll always be waiting-
For you to open the door
and not the window
© 2014 Christina Jackson