Eye’s tired, Bags shifting Right-Left.
Screams heard in the backs of their minds.
Some pictures, others nothing at all.
The sun beating down upon the backs and sand below their feets.

Some wish they can go back home to their loved ones.
Others are not making it home to loved ones.
Instead fighting for their lifetime protecting brothers, sisters, parents, and generations to come.

Mothers comforting children and other parents.
Black fabric holding onto memories, not forgotten. 13 flag folds of red, white, and blue.
Handed with white gloves and heavy hearts.

Bleeding Red, White, Blue, for the youngins who look up to them. Superheroes who can do anything.

Little moments, here and there that make living worth it.
Little feet kicks, pitter patter through hallways.
Screams of surprise, and tears of happiness.
Kisses tender and loving.
Smiles that defy odds stacked against them.

Sunsets, her favorite.
Tips of her lips defying gravity.
Her slightly crooked smile, with lips parted.
Magical

Her hair is fiery red with tips of orange and pink.
Just like the sunsets
How? Must be magic, the way she bewitches me.
Burning, intoxicating, just like the shine she makes.
Strong, beautiful, amazing, above all just WoW!
The darkness you wouldn’t even guess she has.
The way the thunder rolls across her name,
Beauty in the pain she feels.

Bubbles float from her giggles and personality.
A true sweetheart, golden heart, the little ones follow her.

Used, teary eyed, ear piercing screams, and thoughts of “HOW COULD YOU!!!!!!!”
Her mask of bubbles, and sunsets has turned sour.
Lighting flies from her mouth.
Who is this monster?
Is it me?
Why can’t I stop, PLEASE!!!

Staring in the mirror back at me wasn’t Fairs, sunsets, snowflakes, or bubbles.
No bubbles, just broken glass and screams.
Pooling of crimson, salt, and acid.

Who is this?

Not the Sunset, not anymore.

Whirling tides of tsunamis, earthquakes, eruptions.
Pure magic of chaos, a queen of heartbreak.

Even sunsets can be cruel, and unforgiving.

130 Proof strawberry tinted mason jar.
Strawberries swirl as they flow from the crystal glass.
Burns as it goes down the tunnel.
Catching and igniting these Molotov cocktails of bottled feelings.
Touching here, there, nowhere safe.
Doors behind soul filled crystal eyes.
Darkening the soul, to bandage the cracks left behind.
Stinging as strawberry tint flushes the crimson pipes.
Smoke fills the air, calming the stinging crimson pipes.
Sounds fill the hallway between the doors.
Deep acoustics pound in rhythms filling empty space.
Pitter patter of tippy taps rushing towards.
Bubbles of joy float to the front of the tunnel.
Langues barely understood any other time, But understood completely in the present.

Waiting
One
Two
Three
Days, months, years, decades
8th month of the year
For in 6-8 months
Spring will return,
So will the worn tan boots,
Hopefulness of standing with weight inside.
Not resting, within a box that dawns Red, White, and Blue.
Star’s twinkling from the tired, resting soul that lay beneath it.
But, the super hero that stands before the little feet in front.
Giggles, Laughter, Sigh’s of calm water works.
“DADDY, DADDY, DADDY!!!!”
“MOMMY, MOMMY, MOMMY!!!!”
“LOOK, SEE, SEE, I CAN DO THIS NOW!!!!”
Chant’s from the little feet bouncing from one step to another.
Soon they count.
The calendar pages flying off the wall, towards the tired tan boots.
Preparing for use again.
Three
Two
One
Waiting