11pm is for those who can't sleep,
bloods filled with rush;
because of the sweet texts they just can't wait to read.

1am is for the poets who just can't stop,
can't stop the thoughts entering --
entering their mind one by one.

And 2am is for the broken.
The ones who can't stop thinking,
Thinking of what might've been,
What could've been.

I found a place within
my head where you and I
are still standing before
each other

in love.

Shadows caress like a silk prom dress
Memories of my youth scatter
Dancing along the lines of my past
I heard your voice yesterday on video  for the first time in months
Four years ago we took to the sky
Diving
No idea if this was goodbye
Your last words uttered
Before we again touched ground
"I love you, Brook"
"Everyone else, I'll see you when I come down"
So crisp and clear
As if you were still here
I cried and cried until it hurt
Laughter pushing to insert
For though our end was laced with loss and pain
It is outweighed by the love we gained
This constant push and pull
Triggered by the smallest things
I will miss you every. single. day.
I could never let you fade
This gnawing ache I must let heal
Or I'll never move on
Never truly feel

I read today, within the press
About a 7 year-old girl
Her name was Sailor Gutzler, and
She kept on walking, though faced hell.

She'd lost her Mum. She'd lost her Dad.
Her Sister and her Cousin too.
She, the one fated to live
Despite the horror She'd been through.

Their small plane crashed within the woods
She was so well and truly lost.
Bleeding. Crying. Total pain.
She made her way through bark and frost.

She'd walked a mile to find a house
Broken fist and Bleeding knees,
Her shoes were gone, Her feet were cold
Without no-one there but tall, hard trees.

I had to raise her name so that
Our thoughts and prayers can reach her side
I'd have been too weak and quit.
She's 7 and made it stride by stride