In my childhood,
This city embraced me—
Open arms, warm and tender,
Like a lover greeting the beloved.

But now, for years,
It has become a dense jungle of people,
A place where no one speaks,
Where gatherings are no more.
Memories are left untouched,
Unspoken, unshared.

The days slip by—
They end as quickly as they begin.
Was there even an afternoon today?
I can’t recall.

Winter barely departed,
And summer rushed in too soon.
The gentle pause of spring,
Its fleeting beauty,
Seems lost to time.

I stand here, puzzled,
Wondering, searching—
Where has the spring of my city gone?

When winter came with blankets of mist
A cover of cloud through the day
Skies would stretch in endless grey
No dancing rays of an ochre sun
Then, what comfort and sweet bliss -
Was a cup of tea with cinnamon.

All wrapped in scarf, cap and mitts
Warming hands and toasting toes
Singing rhymes or talking prose
We'd whisper tales that winter spun
Tucked at night in layered quilt -
With a cup of tea with cinnamon.

With happiness, memories sing
Of smiles of youth that teased the cold
Battled wars that could be won -
To gloat in glory when grey and old
Oh, what comfort it still brings -
That cup of tea with cinnamon

One they stopped
Going to the playground
But you stayed.

One day they stopped listening
To their parents
Yet you obeyed.

The others grew up
When you did not.

For them it was nothing,
For you it was a lot.

I was helping my
son with his homework
the other day.
For one of his assignments,
he had to write a
public service announcement.
He has been visited
by the muse
at an early age.
His goal is to publish
his first book by the
time he's 18.

It got me thinking about
my life as a writer,
and the young formative
years.
As a boy, I had a
broad imagination,
and much time alone.
I remember coming
up with plot lines in
my head, and then
writing little adventure stories.
My dad was a drama
teacher.
He directed four or
five plays a year.
I grew up watching
the classic plays,
and developing a love
for literature.

In Junior high,
I saw the power
of my gift.
I wasn't a popular
kid; somewhat of a
loner.
But one day in
English class, I wrote
a story about a
*****-headed hamster,
with an underbite-like
a French bulldog.
The other kids loved it.
They listened and laughed,
and applauded.
Words became my
new best friend.

I grew and leaned on
writing through the
good times and the bad.
They were warmth
In the long winters,
and rain in
springtime.
Through the alcoholic
haze of much of
my adulthood,
writing kept me sane,
and it gave me
the will to keep
living when the
pain grew into
a beast of its own...

My son hands me
his paper and it's
brilliant--it warns people
about the dangers
of cyber hackers, by
portraying the average
person surfing the net
as a lamb walking along
in the grass,
thinking life is grand just being
a sheep, when along
comes the wolf that pounces and
devours.
He finishes with,
'Don't let this happen to you.
Protect your computer and files
with such and such software.'

He asked me if I thought
he could be a good writer.
I laughed and told him
that he already was.

I don’t remember the moment I stopped feeling safe.  
Maybe it was when I saw my mother’s tears  
And realized love could be cruel.  
Maybe it was when I learned to run,  
To hide in silence,  
To hold my breath until the storm passed.  
But I was just a kid,  
And love wasn’t meant to be this way.

I remember finding things I didn’t understand…
Images that twisted my thoughts,  
Made me question what it all meant.  
I was maybe 10,
But I wasn’t a child anymore,  
Not after that.

Then came the quiet,  
A new home with grandma,  
Where the chaos slowed,  
And the world felt a little softer.  
Years later you moved in across the street,  
And suddenly, I wasn’t alone.  
We stayed up late,  
Talking like we could create a new life,  
A different world where love didn’t hurt.

I gave you all the parts of me  
That no one else could see,  
Believing in the illusion  
That you could be the one to save me.  
You made me feel safe,  
For a while.  
You were my first true love,
My safe haven,
And I dove in without looking back.

But you were a storm too.  
You left- then came back,  
And I let you, Every time.  
Chasing the feeling of being wanted,  
Of being enough.  
I let you break me  
And still, I waited for you to come back whole.  But you didn’t.

You moved on,  
Married, had kids,  
And I was still stuck in the memories,  
In the dream we never got to live.  
Then the call came,  
And my world stopped.  
You tried to end your life,  
I thought I could save you if I had enough time,
That I could bring you back from the edge.  
But they took you off life support…
And you were gone.  
And I was left,  
Empty,  
With a heart full of things I never said.

It’s been years now,  
And I’ve built a life,  
Found love in places I never expected,  
But your absence still lingers.  
Your face fades,
but your memory doesn’t,  
And I still miss you,  
In ways I can’t explain.  
I forgive you,  
For all the hurt,  
For leaving me broken,  
But I’ll never forget you,  
Not ever.