There are times when the pain is too much.
There are times when we would do anything for a way out.
When we would drown ourselves
in the middle of a drought just so we
wouldn't have to be thirsty again.
We sometimes have to remind ourselves
that we are not alone.
Not yet.
There are times when I bet my soul on three lies told.
And even though I won,
I was payed back in fool's gold.
We grow up never thinking that 'up' means old.
We are not alone
and our paths have been walked before.
What is left in store for us
as we ride this tour bus to hell
is the burnt-out car frames of those
who didn't do quite as well
Father Time continues to soldier ever forth
and sometimes what we want is south
and what we need is north.
But I'm telling you that if you think
that you are the first, you are not.
You came from the smallest dot and now
you are a monument to those who came before.
You are a masterpiece created beyond compare,
built in the image of those who's blood you share.
Those who care in a way no one else ever will.
So next time you are in pain, remember,
you are not a waste.
You are an imprint left by two people
that will one day longer be here.
As the seasons change, realize,
there will soon be a year when
our fathers will die.
When we will be made to walk on our own
without knowing why.
So when the ground starts to eat at you,
pulling you down with a force so strong
that you don't even try to fight it,
let your monuments stand and know that they are not alone.
Because we all must return to the earth,
in one form or another.
So honor them while you still have them,
be they your Father
or your Mother.
Written for my Father's 54th birthday.
