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POW

The solider knelt,

knees in the dirt,

tired of the hurt.

For months they held him

P.O.W.

Only for an end

like this.

 

The smooth cold circle on his neck.

His captors said he was an example

for those who might think of freedom

Now just knees in the dirt.

Different from the dirt

on the farm back home.

This dirt yielded no crops

It only held the dead from rising up.

 

A purple flower blossomed.

Just below his eye

It bloomed, wilted and ran,

down his cheek.

He looked down

as if to examine a spot on his collar,

just before he leaned forward and kissed

the dirt in front of him.

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It bums me out

that Robin’s dead

cause of the dark thoughts

in his head.

It bums me out

that Robin died

or that he even had

thoughts of suicide.


Face

Put on that

happy face

and don’t disgrace

the human race

just find your place,

your mind; erase.


Alone

I’m more alone

surrounded by thousands of peers

then I’ve ever been

on my own.


Lost At Sea

I am lost at sea

and this doggie paddle

ain’t doin’ much

against these twelve foot

monsters

that just keep

coming and coming and coming…


406

Don’t let go, don’t let go. What was once yours, slipping ever so slowly.

Lost focus. Carelessness. Pride.

Tighten your grip, C’mon, before it’s too late. Don’t let go.

Stop standing idle, take control, tighten your grip.

For God’s sake, DO NOT LET GO.

That’s what happens. Juggling the unnecessary and humoring the needless.

Softening your grip.

Now too late, losing all control.

A once bolstering man, reduced to nothing.

Sweaty hands.. Just Don’t let go. Don’t let her go.

 

How did this happen..


backyardea

remember our back-yard growing up?

all of those kingdoms and nations

and our Indian tribes?

The tree-house that we’d fill with waterballoons

by day

and sleeping-bags by night?

The secrets we’d tell

behind the garage

and the twigs and the mud

remember the hose in the summer-time

and the snow in the winter?

the forts and the acorns?

The cloudy days when we’d sit up the pine tree

or the clear warm nights

when we’d play man-hunt in

the neighborhood?

remember the sound of the leaves rushing through the trees

as the wind would blow?

the army men

and the bow that dad would let us shoot

the old pile of logs that we would find worms in?

remember trying to dig a swimming pool,

but it was just a hole?

when we would hide from Amir

behind those bushes?

remember when we had that old rope to swing on,

hanging from the big tree?

remember when we’d race down the sidewalk

on wagons and skateboards

with old plungers and fist-fulls

of pebbles?

remember going back there to hide

or to cry in the bushes

when we didn’t want to be found?

remember all the army-men

and the times when the world seemed to end

at the fence by Mr. Anseley’s house and the sidewalk

in the front yard?

Well I remember,

and I don’t know why

but it makes me cry


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