March 19, the day you died.
The day a friend had left our side.
The call I got was short and swift.
My head spun, my heart adrift.

"Dead?!" I cried.
How could this be?
He had just left...
...I could still remember his glee.

A wife and children,
All left behind.
His story is enough,
to keep his spirit alive:

A joyful man, friends with all,
He loved his family, and trucked through every haul.
A handsome son, and three beautiful daughters,
All left behind: babes without their father.

He landed on our soil,
The land of the free.
Destined to be in his box,
His final resting memory.
"I'm sorry for your lost"
Just didn't seem right.
I had only lost a friend,
Not a mother, nor a wife.

The funeral came,
So bright and tranquil.
He loved his life,
And so many loved him.
A beautiful day, for all to hear,
Even when the bugle cried.
We listened to it's mournful lullaby.

I'm mad at you, but I'll be okay.
I could never stay mad at that goofy face.
Watch over your family, tuck them in at night,
And I'll keep from saying Good bye,
I'll simply say, See you in the sky.

Yesterday,
In church
I prayed.

Because even here
I am not safe.
Even here
lust is in my way.
Protect me father,
with you, I am saved.

Lord forgive me,
for my impure thoughts
on your holy day.

My mother gathered me on her knee
and oh the stories i would hear
“The prince slay’d the beast his eyes white 
and strained, his inevitable end was near”

“The fair damsel had long golden hair
her face as pale as snow.
The prince took home the beautiful maid”
of course knighthood would be bestowed. 

They would wander the soft green hills together
wanting soon to be wed,
They softly reached the large wooden door
And drank from the pool of red. 

Oh how merry they’d seem as man and wife
with his dark hair and her light skin.
Mother closed the book, the light turned off
and my slumber enclosed within.


I wandered the soft green hills alone
recalling a story once told
Of princes and dragons with golden flare
my mind once easy to mould.

Dead sheep from a wolf’s mouth i pass
the preacher stood in my midst
i walked right by, not a word to spare
his white strained eyes i did resist.

As i passed the church where grass once grew
dark graves, and candle lit light
but not a glance i threw to its golden prince
not awed in it’s holy sight.

I loved him and he loved poetry
he loved me and I loved the rosary
around his razor-nicked throat, I lit a candle for him
below the window, and I let him in
just as god told me not to, I let him in
through frosted windows and blood pacts
he found sick ways to keep my heart intact
guns and langer's lines, his lips and poisoned wines
he slid his hand into my pocket and took the church key
wrote about a girl with blue eyes and told me it was me -
and that night I had dream that he let me die
he let me die, just as god had told him not to, he let me die.

She gave you a smile.
Teeth showing and all.
You could almost hear
The crashing of her walls
As they hit the ground.

You go to take her hand
And she begins to twirl
A strand of hair between
Her fingers. Still shy and
Timid, the fragile girl.

Where will you ever see
Such beautiful almond shaped
Brown eyes other than standing here,
On this beauty. Oh, yes, you call
Her Beauty.  

****. You can't help yourself
From imagining all that you would
Like to happen if given the chance.
But, not here! Not at Church for God's
Sake! He should strike you down in
This very moment… Yet, who could
Blame you?

When the prayer ends, you look
At Beauty one last time before
Having to take your seat. A hint
Of a smirk plays on her lips and
She looks down to your pants.
Oh God. She knows.. How
Embarrassing. This is a place of
God and this is sin..
Yet you can't help but to feel
Pleased.

I never understood
How love could be a sin
How I could be disgraced
Just by holding your hand

But a man with a woman
Can beat and cut and curse
And still the church will bless
A union with this or worse

No, I don't understand
How our love could be a sin

She takes a seat
not saying much, she tries not to speak
because you'll smell the whiskey
Blacked out eyes of abused innocence
hides a tale of misery
There she sits, way to the right in the third row
as she tries to believe in a power that can save her from below
Her torn and worn jeans have seen many days,
So go on and judge them, the third row sinners
While she sits in a daze
She pulls at her sleeves, so no one will see
Her story carved into her skin of satin ivory
So she watches the preacher with curiosity
wondering if anyone can smell the whiskey
or see her story in ivory
She's a believer, that third row sinner.

He takes a seat
Masked in strength
wondering if you can see that he is weak
His hands shake, maybe from drugs
or maybe from pure anxiety, not just a tweak
There he sits, way to the left on the third row
praying that this isn't all just a show
His face is worn and hardened with sorrow
So go on and judge the third row sinners
While he fights for tomorrow
The visions won't leave him, the whispers
Yet he won't let anyone see his story, as it withers
So he watches the preacher, wondering
Can you guess his weakness
Can anyone see his illness
His story, in the silent stillness
He's a fighter, that third row sinner

I take a seat
My story not one of interest
But yet you judged me from when I walked in the entrance
I have wounds, many scars, and have sinned plenty
Yet it's none of your business, my story
Until I have laid it at your feet gently
In the middle of the third row, with her at my right, and him at my left
I ask you to not judge us, we third row sinners
For our stories will have an ending, just like yours
But many paths leave many doors
So open wisely, and maybe we will all choose the right one
to lead us home.

I love to hear the church bells chime
Everyday, three times a day
But one day while laying in the grass they rang
At the wrong hour

Slow pace
One ring ever six seconds
The slow toll of sadness

Here I lay in the grass
time continues to pass