The hard part was
trying to convince
myself that it
was the right
thing to do.

I'll never forget the look on your face.
I'll never forget that phone call at 7pm.
You nudged my arm and by the look in your eyes I could tell something was wrong.
"Uncle Markie is dead."
Four words that should never be in the same sentence.
The first thing you say to me is, "how do we tell her?"
My eyes filled with tears and they wouldn't stop falling.
This was the first time that my father;
The man who has always has the answer,
The one with the key to fix everything,
Didn't know what to do.
I didn't know what to do.
How can you tell your mother that her brother, her best friend is dead?
I'll never forget how she tried to run away.
She kicked and screamed and cried.
There was nothing I could do to fix it.
She kept saying, "it's not true, it's not true, how did it happen?"
My dad and I looked at each other
How do you tell someone that their brother took his own life,
Because he couldn't bare living life any longer?
I had to be the one to tell you,
I wish I could take it back.
Because seeing your mother break before your very eyes does something to you.
My uncle took a piece of me with him.
I'm still hoping for the day when I can be whole again.
But I don't think that will ever happen.

Lumpy fields of fox hole heaved by a harrow,
Boulders drawn, lifted on break weather stall,
Bundles of crops strewn, wall stone shrapnel,
Within lines so drawn, only a few have fallen.

A neon glow,

a flourencent daze,

a shine of the sun’s rays upon a rose display.

The shade felt from a midnight ****,

or from fire around tiki poles

in a field.



Some say it’s a recognized face

that makes one feel home.

But it’s a familiar light

that makes us

feel welcome.

Damaged goods
Hopelessly lost
My existence fading
Too tired to fight
Nothing left to cherish
Complete surrender

Hoping to suffocate my hardened heart
I locked it away in a padded box
Intentionally misplacing the key

Then you appeared...
Familiar stranger
Remembered soul
Such a perfect contradiction
Strong and gentle
Warm and cool
A serious man and a playful child

Rescued by your words
Saved by your compassion
You have awakened my emotions
From their deepest sleep

I breathe for you…I wait for you

If I had a shiny gun,
I could have a world of fun
Speeding bullets through the brains
Of the folk who give me pains;

Or had I some poison gas,
I could make the moments pass
Bumping off a number of
People whom I do not love.

But I have no lethal weapon-
Thus does Fate our pleasure step on!
So they still are quick and well
Who should be, by rights, in hell.