(read forward, then backward, line by line)

I ran.
Not knowing what else to do
There was so much blood on my hands
It was mine
The kitchen knife
Caught in my chest
Guilt
Consumed by
Fear
I was heightened by
Adrenaline
But running on
Wasn’t enough
While trying to stay calm,
Losing control
It was me that would end up
Dead. Because
He was
In front of me
The whole time
It was too late
Trapped
I found myself
Locked in chains
My fate was
Death.

I wonder if they ever heard
The noise that people made
Watching them up on the screen
Until the final credits fade

Did anybody tell them
Thanks for what you did
For just a while you took me back
And made me feel just like a kid

Once the greasepaint was washed off
And the curtains had come down
Did they know the magic that they made
Still filtered through the town

Acting like we wanted to
Up there upon the  screen
They filled the world with laughter
You know just what I mean

Most of them are gone now
Very few that we would know
Acetates and ashes
Are all they have to show

If we took the time to tell them
Thank you for the laughter
Would they ever hear us...
Those who have come after

The mantle never passed
The best are long now dead
The ones who worked in silence
With words seen but not said

The names are not all famous
Some are never known
But, we owe them for the laughter
In the movies that were shown

We'd remember lines that they said
And we'd think of them and smile
They took us out of where we were
If just for a short while

Think of your favorite actor
Who you watched and always laughed
Whether slapstick or through word play
They all chose to share their craft

I will not list my favorites here
The list may never end
But, to them I'd just say thank you
A message I must send

I wonder if the next time
Or even the next time after
If they would ever hear us
tell them Thank you for the laughter

We attempt rescue, unable to bear
the stardust-coated dragonfly
beat, beat, beating
frantic on the glass.

We entice him to perch
on our extended lifeline-broom
nurse him in a box, where he flutters
quivers, lies quietly blue.

My son cries bitterly
as we place a minute cross
upon the dragonfly grave
while intoning our final goodbyes:

We honor those who have fallen victim
to this fatal architectural trap, lured
by skylights of enticing white-light death
and the paned illusion of freedom.

In admiration of winged determination
and perseverance in the face of futility
we carefully tend the fragile, curved bodies
lay them here to rest under the mock orange.

years of gauze-weighted detritus
swept beneath these ponderous shrubs
a reminder - what seems like freedom
                                                         ­           often isn’t.

I want back what I have lost.
To be whole once more,
To find the piece that fits.
I can't feel much;
But what I can,
Is just enough
To get up again.
The hope that tomorrow,
I'll find someone new,
To help me place the pieces;
To show me love again