O, it is definite.
I submit to your summit,
And linger there indefinitely.

Like my father did,
O, so perfectly lulled;
took the pill

His mother nursed him with,
To forget his father, he who
Met his grace

Earlier than the stripling of your years.
O, how he reset your communion,
Traced your strength asunder-

Compacted you into diamonds;
Your violence mined them with duds.
Recall me now, you recalled me then-

Never now, do you see me,
Without yourself as him.
Him for his failings.

I am your mirror to you,
The roses you gave me
Have been rotting since 1962.

O father, I just wanted you to be true
But you took your dead father,
And gave me him too.

The house is enormous now
Riddled with stones, cobwebs
and dreams ended too soon

The ceiling doesn’t hold my conversation
So I just stare at it, blankly
And it stares back, a brightly beaming white

In only a few seconds I start to see those little spots
Six of them, moving across my vision as my
Eyes fill with tears and my heart refuses to let go

He has no choice but to pound her back,
to get her to let go of my arm as she bites down hard.
She says she hates me because I pulled her hair when she was a child,
I am a vicious man who lacks control over my anger.
I don’t disagree with her memories, but she adds more than I can remember,
In the moment, I can have blind rage and not remember a few minutes before.
She thinks I hate her, but I don’t. How can I convince her otherwise now?
I am no longer Father. Dad. Pops. I am my first name.
I see the wall that I created whenever I try to talk with her,
Not made of wood, but concrete. It’s made of a Roman mixture that will last for thousands of years.
My wife says, “Give it time”, but time doesn’t erode this wall.

"When your turn finally arrives," he says,
"you'll understand why the wait was really long.
You'll see why the storm was rough and strong,
Why the Ocean was endless, the sails torn.
When your turn finally arrives, every tree in this jungle will make sense.
You'll appreciate each wound and scratch for the beautiful scars they are.
You'll finally see adventures in your endless journey.
You'll realize that the burdens and weight you couldn't bear
were merely the crucible where your strength was forged.
The wrecking heartbreaks, the tears you've shed,
You'll learn chiseled your spirit and your character made.
When your turn finally arrives, you'll understand that
The purpose of going through the deepest caverns and the darkest tunnels
was to unearth hidden gems, like precious pearls in funnels.
When your turn arrives, amid life's daily stumbles,
You'll discover that each loss you picked up along the way
collectively turned you into the masterpiece that you are."

And I awake in the night, the aches and pain of tearing fibers everyday to have my body rebuild them
Its an unease, tossing and turning in my bed
Turning on music with no words, nightly hymns
Yet my mind drifts to a place, not so far, for now
That was simpler, filled with new experiences with new friends new places new family
I never quite knew if it was excitement, fear, or the newness that made me feel like I was on top of the world, maybe because I was out in the world
Of course I only remember the good, the fondness of the past grows with each passing day we stray further from it
But, when I awake in those nights, I feel a longing, the breath leaves my chest and it feels hollow and shallow to breath
I miss the nights wondering the town, drinking and sharing and getting lost with people I hardly know, yet know better than anyone within 2,000 miles. I miss the family that took me in, though I was anxious and could barely communicate, it was comfort that I remember the most. I miss the routine. I miss walking and the weather and the people and the clothes and the countryside. I miss how old that country is, the food, the lifestyle. I missed being a person, with a blank slate and being an explorer.
But, most of all, I miss the mundane of that place, the bus rides, the room, the dog, the walks. I missed the person I was and the life I was allowed to live.

Even if I were to go back, it would not be the same
It was the time and place in my life that I cannot revisit, not the location
so maybe that's what I feel in my chest, a longing for something that once was and can never be again
and even more than that, the hollow shallow breath is the fear of losing even just one of those memories, lost to time, to unconnected friends, to the country and family I left with tears in my eyes and cries in my chest when riding one last time to the plaza

When I was a child,
Watching a wayward world through a lens of wonder and possibility,
Bound to an unusual captor of bats and gloves,
Reaching towards the rest of my life,
Over the head of the life I was already living,
I fell in love.
Not with a person or an object,
Nothing but a symbol of everlasting youth.
A team,
A place,
A game,
It was baseball.
Not just the game but everything that accompanied it,
A family,
Brothers becoming brothers.
A world,
The smells of trees and rain and concession stand hotdogs,
The sounds of a ball thudding into a catcher’s mitt and cheering fans,
The tastes of early morning Starbucks and corn nuts and bubble gum,
All of it stuck between basepaths,
Sitting on a bench in a dugout,
Spilled on the seats of my father’s car.

All of these little things,
All of the memories,
Just moments passed,
Lost in the depths of my mind,
Taunting me as I wish to return to them.
Although not yet old, I am older,
Reminiscing on the good and the bad of my youth.
I can still remember the veil of paralyzing loneliness,
Pierced by the family found in my brother’s team.
I remember the tears shed as I watched my father devoting his life to that team.
Those bad times were outshined by the good,
Team dinners in faraway towns,
Sunsets over outfield scoreboards,
Driving back to hotels in the dark with the windows down and classic rock blaring.
This is the way that I grew up,
Lonely but free,
Unhappy but secure,
In love with a thing that took so much from me,
Lasting Stockholm Syndrome bleeding from my life as it was to the life that I have.
I have lost this love,
No longer experience the ups and downs that can only be described as the reality of life.
I cannot weep over this lost love,
Cannot wallow,
Knowing that this is how it must be.
I must let go,
Grow up,
Get old,
Move on away from the family I found and the world I discovered,
Life doesn’t slow until it stops,
Barreling towards a hollow canyon,
Disappearing over a cliff to be covered by fistfuls of dirt,
Watered by the tears of loved ones left behind.
I must leave my love to rest before I lay in that hollow canyon.

Why must we grow up?
Grow out of our innocence and naivety, careless inexperience?
Why must we take for granted the memories of our youth?
Where do we retrieve them when our age returns to us and we miss the forgotten beauty of the world through a child’s eyes?
I wish the softness of the summer breeze would return to me,
Find me again in my days of regret,
In the sea of sorrow following me from my youth,
Sending waves crashing over my head.
I am not yet old, not yet wise,
But still, I mourn the loss of days past,
Loss of sweet summer softness,
Of the relentless rain ruining the chances I had of forgiving my father.

I have forgiven him since.
I forgave him like I forgave myself,
Regretfully.
I often miss that swirling storm of emotions I felt,
The loneliness, the worthlessness, the heart sickness.
So young and so filled with pain, balanced only by the Children of the Sun radiating from my chest.
Views of the maple-*******, the leather-launcher, the grenade-catcher,
Smells of earth and freedom,
Sounds of gentle violence, drawn-out intellectualism,
Overwhelming my senses and filling my days.
Those memories will follow me into the reaper’s grasp,
Rest with me in my eternal cradle.
Despite the storm, the pain, the sickness,
I dream of that cradle where the memories, the bitter and the sweet, will come together in the storm,
Meet like lightning and thunder,
And follow me into peace.
I am not yet old, but I long to be,
To once again feel my love and its infinite reach.

Mother brings us to this soil
    and will never let us get spoil.
Father brings us, our bread
    and  never lets us know any dread.  
Always, brother fights for his share,
   When  someone  hurts us, he wouldn’t  bear.
The words of  sister, never you dare,
   she is next to mother, in care.
A good friend joins with you in good deeds
   and stays to the last, in your needs.
Relationship is the real wealth,
   to be concerned next to health.
Show care and affection to the best,
   It will take care of the rest.