Time
I would like to see
your grandfather years
rant your past mistakes
told to me as a father
not me as mere heir

knowledge
My sons may heal
from our long years
of ruins and rains
strength of oysters
of long yesteryears

Future
speeches and dishes
at ranches and brunches
with past stories as
pass time stories
your son
to my son
these stories for their sons

The Cost…by Jessie 2/07

As I stood on the hill surveying
The blackened aftermath
I peered with the eye of an eagle
For life, to cross my path
Many hours I stood there waiting
My rifle tucked under my chin
The sun in the sky, began falling
And realization rolled in with the wind
Nothing was moving
Because nothing was left
Destruction had taken them all
It seemed I was the only one standing
So I allowed my rifle to fall
I gazed to the north
Then back to the south
Not sure, which way I should go
Feeling faint, I dropped to my knees
From the wound in my side, the blood flowed
With shallow breath and cold setting in
I asked myself… what was the cost?
The only thing gained on this ****** day
Was fathers and son were all lost

I was standing at the corner
Of Yonge and Bedlam Ave.,
When I spied a chap across the way,
The image of my Dad.

He had one thumb in his pocket,
The fingers hung outside.
His other arm craddled a book,
As often in his life.

His weight was shifted to the right,
With head cocked to the side;
He wore his cap over one eye,
Tweed jacket open wide.

He raised his head,
As I did mine,
Looked to me and nodded;
He smiled and touched
The edge of his brim,
I did the same as him.

We crossed with the light.
He passed
And went
Where he belongs;
Me, to the library,
My book was overdue.