Sun-bleached and fluttering,
a butterfly weaves around us.
“I wonder who that is?”
The sun bursts from Grandmother’s face.

By summer she had passed.
Everything was yellow, golden,
like pages from old hymnals.
Hazy sunlight passes through stained glass
and lands there on her face.
“Why are you crying? She’s right here.”

Cross-legged in the shade
of a spiraling cypress tree,
I say hello again.
Sunbeams pierce through
leaves and reflect off her
iridescent wings
and I know she’s at peace here in my palm.

The brevity of a butterfly.
The perfect vessel
for a wandering spirit.

You were supposed to give of yourself--
Your angel dust was dragon fire;
*The spark to her funeral pyre.

Dear Sara,
You were so young,
Too young to be in pain,
Too young to hold a gun,

Dear Sara,
You were such a beautiful mess,
The pills were our little secret,
The ***** was your best friend.

Dear Sara,
I'm sorry I wasn't there,
But it was just too much to bear,
To see you did and yet not care,

But as I stand here today,
I still feel the sting of the pain,
And my tears come down like rain,
I hope to see you again someday.

Rest In Peace Sara Lynn

What doesn't **** me makes me stronger
That which kills me, is what I long for
We're all trying to maintain
But I feel
I'll never abstain

Rid the pain, make it rain
I'll prove it with one-eighty proof
Bulletproof liquid
Even better when I mix it...

Yellow, green, and blue
I pop to change my moods
Try to control emotion
It's my own secret potion
Sink into the couch
Grab some lotion

The lonely stoner
Trapped in his mind tonight
Trapped in his mind tonight
Wasn't awake for her wake
His days and nights are mixed
Her funeral he missed
Time for another fix...

That short wispy haired lady
Fighting her way against the wind
Up the London Road
Is my Mother.
Lips pursed she is returning
From the hairdressers, the post office
And has yet to pick up steak and kidney
For the pie she will make
For the boy who is coming home
For her son who will soon be there
For the man who loves the pie
For her child who loves her.
Her lips are pursed in determination
Against all the obstacles
Real and imagined that stalk her.
Lately that climb past the church
Made her puff.
Tiredness, her weakened heart
Struggling to keep up.
Perhaps the thought of another winter
Another wet and windy struggle
Up and down the village
Up and down the London Road.
Discretely her body decided
To give up.
No more struggling
No more tiredness
No more puffing and halting
For my shy timid Mother.
No more making tea
No more cleaning
No more washing
No more worrying
For my Mum.
Her three sons
Middle aged and modern
Stand miserably with their Father
Standing in suits in the municipal crematorium.
Rain and wind, my Mothers enemies
Howl and lash outside
Lost without their old victim
Inside aging relatives
Exchange scared glances
Wondering who is next.

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.

I sent condolences
to the future I'll never fortunate
to have
and I wished it good luck
for the doors that had opened up.
It didn't matter how it all begun 'cause,

The little lie became one in chucks, it robbed my nature and
kept whispering me that I had to make something
to amend myself somehow
but
I, who lost its soul so long that I couldn't looked up the stars in the sky and
told them to push the real pain away from the darkest corner of my mind.
On the ledge, I started laughing
until it numbed my jaws and made me look alike a frowned crown.
I was 'it'.

As I lit up my cigarette I thought
of that uncertainty life gives us so that the art of living wouldn't be dull
but
I know it is just only waning, waning away and nothing else.

Am I reaching end of tether?
Am I getting warmer?