As I try to write a poem Someone's lost their home

As I try to be witty
Bombs destroy a city

As I try to create
Death is their only fate

Makes this seem so silly
Because it is

Through the forest of trees from your lips

   I can read your unspoken words.

       As each leaf falls

   the view becomes much more clear.

       Words that once reverberated through the forest

   seem as lifeless as the fallen leaves at my feet.

        I await a rush of fresh air

    to stir and animate the dead silence around me.

as i look through my window
i cannot find his light
he’s nowhere to be seen
i’m all alone tonight

his presence calmed me
silent and serene
his warm yellow shine  
a sight unseen

oh please come back soon
i miss you so much
i’m off to bed now
please stay in touch

I think
the world
needs
more
of us
than we
can offer

today,
i wore it again
and people complimented me
they say red is my color
and it suits me.

today,
it's too thick and dark
did i overapply
no, it's the right amount
just enough
to make them think
i'm fine.

today,
i look at myself
in the mirror,
and they're right
red shines on me,
so i applied
another layer,
and another
until my lips felt too thick,
but my eyes still see
the scars beneath it.

Every day he sat in his chair,
His ratty, tuna-colored, reclining marshmallow .
And every day, his happy little girl jumped up
and sink next to the armrest.
He kissed her hair and then she grinned.
He put his arm around her and she nuzzled his side.
“Where will Daddy always be?”
“Right here with me.”

The days meandered while the years pounced upon him.
His little girl traded her dresses for suits.
She blossomed and flourished,
Through the schooling and the moving vans,
and just as she foretold,
he was right there with her.

Until they day the doctor found it.
The lump, the break, the bubble, it wasn’t important what.
He knew the time had been floating around him, waiting to pounce,
but it knocked him down farther than he knew it could.

Now every day she sits in his chair.
His ratty, tuna-colored, reclining marshmallow.
And every day, his happy little girl stands at his side
Then sits firmly atop the wooden chair next to the armrest.
He points to his IV and she adjusts his line.
He puts his arm out and she leans forward.
“Where will Dad always be?”

No answer.

Do you remember our bulletproof afternoons?
The ones downtown wandering the pawn shops, looking for nothing.

Remember the antique Coca-Cola bottles you loved?
Remember the good deals on the old Nintendos?
Remember kisses you gave me in the back of the store?
Remember pretending the cameras couldn't see me touch you?

Remember holding my hand outside?
Remember your hand on my waist?
Remember the rain on the sidewalk?
Remember me laughing?

Remember the old books on the shelves?
Remember me stroking their spines?
Remember me writing my own stories about how they got there?
Remember watching me and loving that?

Remember the jewelery?
Remember the bracelets and necklaces?  The trinkets of broken loves?
Remember the rings?
Remember watching me sooth the lonely rings through the glass?
Remember what I said?
Remember how it broke our hearts, to see them broken beneath the glass?
Remember how the engravings broke our hearts?
Remember how you held my hand and kissed my shoulder?
Remember how you told me not to worry?

Do you remember pawning my ring?
Remember pocketing the cash?
Remember watching the pawn man place it beneath the glass?
Remember the couple holding hands, hearts breaking over my ring?

Do you remember breaking their hearts?

I saw you on the street again today.
You were over in that stranger's eye.
I felt the little spark you lit,
just to say that you still can.
I heard you on the radio twice.
You were singing about the way you taste,
just in case that I forgot.
You sang about me,
how I'll never find another you.
I smelled you on the breeze this morning,
after you left, when the sun came up.
You left a trail through the blinds.
I kept my eyes shut, to let you stay.
But even when I know you're gone,
all I can sense is you.