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Jon Tobias Jun 2011
God done ****** up again

This time by lettin’ that halo slip from around your holy head

And because he’s full of excuses

he said

“You know

Her halo was so big it must’ve got caught in the birth canal”

Really

that halo was a birth control ring

one of the clear plastic ones

And really

you were a miracle that you came out so perfect

And God done ****** up again by lettin’ that halo slip

In my whole life there have only been 3 miracles I have ever seen

And God can take the credit

Only

Because he didn’t stop them from happening

1: My brother is the most perfect thing to happen on this earth since innocence found its voice and used it
to cry because people are mean sometimes.

2: In my almost 23 years of life, I have almost died 8 times. The miracle in that is, that no matter what my brain might tell me, my body is too dumb to give up on life that easily.

3: You were born into this world. I consider it a miracle that I met you.

I’d give you a halo if you’d let me

I’d become a priest just so I could get close enough to god to tell him

“Man

Quit this crap

We both know the world is ugly

We both know I lay awake most nights because I can’t turn off my brain

We both know that when we finally meet

we will sit at a table

Over a deck of cards

And some cigars

And my favorite beer

Just so we can spend the lifetime it will take

Discussing how I ****** things up over and over again

But Man

Just own up to this one mistake and give the Halo back”

I saw it once

Shaped like a battle field

Or the spilled milk you sometimes cry over

Or a childhood race track

One that in your memories you go to

Over and over again

In my whole life

I have only witnessed a few miracles

And the last one

Was you
Corey Smith Jun 2018
My best of all friend's
forgot my own name,
Ne'er may he know
of the man I became.

There I walk'd into that
room of dim light,
Where in chair he sits-
most desolate sight.

"Hello grandpa, do you remember me?"
Receive blank stare
with hot tear on my cheek.

"I'm your grandson,
your favorite at that;
Here's a picture of us-
here we both sat.

'Twould be your fifty-sixth
birthday photo,
Look, we are wearing our
'best friend's' polo."

He grabs from my hand,
the frozen image;
Gentle, slow, weak and timid,
Just like these syllables.

And as if by a mircale,
He fights and digs for glory,
Let out a whisper,
"I'm sorry, Corey."

He ebbs away into the afterlife.
Why do all things dear
end in such sour strife!

All that I have to
remember death by;
Is that we are mostly
dead than alive.

— The End —