Written While Listening to Cello Suite No. 1

Oh my God. She said, Oh my God, I thought that was a joint. Hahahaha. I replied. I looked down at the produce sticker I had taken off my Braeburn apple and rolled unconsciously into Yes, you guessed it, a very small, very miniature, but perfect imitation of, a joint. Hahahaha. I can see that, I say. Sitting here, without my laptop battery charger, checking my battery power in the top right corner of my task bar, I keep reminiscing about last night’s special brownie that he gave me and the giant joint he rolled for us that I smoked half of and she smoke the other half. I keep thinking about the burn, the sweet stench that only Mary Jane, Mary-J, MJ, whatever you wish to call it, can call claimsies to. I remember the dancing. The screaming and sliding around on the hardwood floors. “Jeremiah was a bullfrog! Da-da DA!” I smirk and glance nervously around the café to make sure no one saw me laugh like a crazy person. I remember when he (her boyfriend) came in and then he (the roommate that I’m dating but not, more like “friends” but not, so fuck buddies but potential) walks in and I’m high from the giant joint and high from the brownie so I’m stoned, he says. You’re stoned, he said. Hahahaha. Yeh, I reply. I’m stoned, yes, I think. I continue to watch Steve Carell. God, what a hairy Zeus. I want to worship his body. 40 Year Old Virgin could not have been better cast. He’s hot, I say. I smoked pot last night, he states. I turn around. I smoked it I took three hits from him. I’m open mouthed, agape, flabbergasted. I can’t believe he did that. Somehow he is less attractive. I’m scared now. But more turned on by the fact that my stoned hormones are now fiery and horny, burning a pleasurable, tingling hole through the walls of my vagina and I want to hop on his lap and pull his shirt off and trace his tattoo, Hail Mary Full of Grace, from collar bone left to collar bone right, run my finger down his stomach and under his pants. I want to surprise him and have him put me under him, take my shirt off, admire my breasts, I know they’re great, I’m not vain, everyone says they are. I see him kiss my neck, my chest, my bra line, nudge the fabric away and kiss me, trail down my stomach and tease me. No kissing, he doesn’t kiss. Fuck buddies. But he’ll thank me for sleeping because it gets lonely sometimes. Potential. In the morning he’ll sleep til noon or after and I’ll lay awake from sunrise til sunshine peak alone with him snoring. Adorable. “Friends.” All this I imagine in horny bliss while sitting on the chair a foot from the TV with the hot Steve “Zeus” Carell and he is behind me on the bed, my mouth still agape in turned on aw and they are standing laughing at my face and he shakes his head, gulps from his Coors Light and smiles at me. His nose is broken. He drinks too much. He’s an addict. Or was. Is? I don’t know how this wording works. His forehead is too big, his hair receded, tall which is nice but red in the face which is sunburn I think? and he is kind of rude but has a great laugh and he smells amazing and I love that when I go home I smell like him for a little while longer and if I sleep under his covers and on his pillow and against his skin and tangle our legs and lay upon his chest I leave the next day smelling all day like him and I like it but I don’t because I know I shouldn’t. You have a pattern she told me. You have a pattern my mom said. They are all alike, all the guys. I know this to be true, but while I sit in my chair and watch him and analyze, scrutinize, dramatize, and fantasize him all while stoned I don’t care because I like him and I know it may be a pattern but it’s him and I like all of him, not parts of him, and I’m attracted to him and he is me. We may not kiss or hug or hold hands but I have tons of apathy and I get it because that’s what I do I see the other side not judge and I go back and I call because I like sex and especially when I’m high and horny and he doesn’t like me high because I can’t possibly like myself high, right? but I do and I don’t give a flying fuck what he thinks because I like myself, except not and he can see that I don’t I’m sure because he’s smart and has a degree and drives a nice car I mean truck (the last has nothing to do with the proceeding) and I like sex with him in all positions and I wish he would kiss me but then that would be bad, right? I’m not sure, I think it would. But it doesn’t matter because I want to lay in his bed and though he doesn’t hold me like I wish he would it is nice, he is right, it is nice to lay next to someone, just to know that the bed made for two, which usually holds just one, is filled with two and four arms and four legs and 20 toes and 20 fingers and two hearts and four lungs. You’re wild he said. Hahaha What do you mean? I am sly and know what he meant but he turns around, naked, on the edge of the bed, stares at me, naked, with my hair sex-crazed and frizzy and I know I look hot and he I’m sure is thinking the same, and he smiles and says You know what I mean and I do, I know what he means. But I want to hear it confirmed. I remember all this, visualize on this, in a chair, in his bedroom (not his but the boyfriend, not my boyfriend/friend/fuck buddy/potential but hers), still staring he thinks they think I’m stoned out of my mind but I’m in my mind right mind, sober mind with stoned tinglies and I’m reminiscing/fantasizing about his penis and my vagina becoming friends and sure enough I’m horny and though we move to his room we do nothing but watch McClintok You like Westerns? Yes I do. I love John Wayne I reply and we continue to glance and stare at each other, smile and laugh at each other, small talk, high talk with each other, and I leave I don’t look at him because I want to jump on him and so I say Bye with my eyes out the door, my body in his fingers and I get in my car and I leave and I wish and then I want McDonald’s Hotcakes.

Almonds

This look of sultry, “please fuck me,” “I dare you to make an advance,” escaped her pupils. But it wasn’t just her pupils that forced me to freeze, solitary and astute in one my place. It was the perfect almond shape that slightly squinted, unblinking. It was when the almonds, draped in thick black, long, curled lashes slowly dropped and suddenly I was released from their bondage, but only for a lifelong second. When they lifted and parted once one long black line and suddenly, carefully two, they captured me and tied me up and held me, standing right there in my spot, unmoving, still, silent, hard. And oh, how those almonds knew. They laughed at me and taunted me; they questioned me and challenged me. They begged me and pushed me. They harnessed me, kept me, beckoning my every molecule and pore. It was the way the corners of the tear drops dipped down into her nose, almost giving an illusion of her eyes heading in separate directions, taking off, with me left alone and unsatisfied, confused and abandoned. She saw me, knew me, and was way ahead of me in this game of uncomfortable pleasurable torture. I grew hot as she continued to stand there, in all her beauty, but seeing none of her, only the almonds. The brown quicksand in her irises caught hold of my feet and sucked me in with no opportunity for escape. I was helpless, fearless. The lashes moved up and down, sizing me up. Just above the almonds was a perfect plain of smooth prairie brown, with an umbrella cover of black, just hovering, slightly arched in questioned ponders, but hungry for the kill. Trekking across the prairies again, back into the thick vines of my capturer, I stepped into the quicksand and let myself sink. I watched as she caught my steady resolve and her head slightly tilted, her curled curtains slightly framing the right side of God’s canvas, His best work. Almonds narrowed to slits in daring fashion, ready to pounce on any movement not allowed. She laughed through the black pupils, the tear drop corners, the umbrella plains and brown prairies, the black lined vines, and through my own saucers. She walked towards me, advancing on her prey.

Five Scents

Lay down
Breathe.
Take in my scent –
my shampoo, my perfume,
my makeup
Take in my scent –
my skin, my breath
Listen.
slow, steady, intake
slow, steady, inhale
quick, hard, exhale
quick, hard, exhaust
Feel.
my life, my rhythm
heart beat –
1-2, 1-2, 1-2
tick-tock, tick-tock
pitter-patter
muscle twitch
skin graze
Watch.
chest rise
fall
eyelash fall
rise
lips part
close
nervous swallow
Taste.
my lips –
hints of lipstick
my skin –
bitterness of perfume

don’t name it
it won’t exist
exist within context
context is created
created realities
realities are false
false understanding
understanding the living
living fake lives
lives that are upside down
down to most is up to some
some is just a few
few only stand from many
many speak
speak and listen
listen to who
who am i

Travis

This is about a boy in most of my classes that I always meet eyes with in an awkward since...

It seems that every time I look
across the room you’re there
staring
at me.
And I don’t know what to think
Do I have something on my face?
Is my hair out of place?
I’m not sure what to think.
Or do
how to act.
It’s oddly flattering
So…thank you?
I think?

Hidden

Hidden between peek-a-boo fingers
underneath crinkled eyelids smiling
inside entwined hands intimately embracing
within the whisper of the covers
rubbing against tangled legs
sneaking in between lips brushing
leaping off tongues speaking
dancing freely upon cheeks blushing
diving off eyelashes fluttering
swimming towards quickened side glances
pausing during cautious lip bite thinking
sung out with rustle of morning hair tucking
dawned upon and moon lit
tinkered with and pondered
rationalized and tossed aside
dug up treasure from the dirt
circle back to peek-a-boo fingers
start over with body tingles

Wolf's Cry, Stars and Clouds

I stood there staring at what I thought was my world, but I was so wrong. It was the universe. I had spent all my time just staring at the universe! And I stood there staring at this cloud. Was it a cloud? Can there be clouds at night? Transparent ones I mean. But then that would mean that during the day the only way to see a cloud is to have sunlight reflect off of it. I don’t think this happens. But maybe it’s those weird star clouds that are really pretty in those science pictures from NASA. I don’t know. SHIT a shooting star! No just a bug flying by in the yard light. That’s a fast moving bug. Wow. Then I tilted my head back down and wondered how long I had been standing there. And I realized that my ear buds from my IPOD felt like cotton balls and I could hear them move in my ear canals: SWWWOOOOSSSHHHH SWWWIIIIISSSSSHHHH. Weird. Then I realized the music I was listening to was that African band. I can’t remember. But I could feel every beat of the music. I titled my head back again and stared at the universe. I felt every muscle relax, my fingers and hands start to disappear, my body became loose and I swayed with the winds and I felt warm, so warm. Everything inside of me became still. Except for my heart; my heart it beat so fast and strong. I felt it push life through my veins. I opened my eyes and it was like BAM! STARS. I felt every slap, tap, and thump of the hands of the conga players. My head rocked and tapped back and forth to the music, so my hips followed and I wanted to dance the night away to this African band. I noticed that my glasses fogged every time I breathed out, felt the air and I become two again instead of one as we once were, if only for a moment. Even though I used you, air. I felt you leave me, air. My glasses fogged every time and it was like fading away into…nothing. And then I realized I was standing there, staring at the universe, staring at the sky. I looked down the horizons and saw a single bright star. Like a flashlight in the sky, shining right at me, from so far away. I think it’s a planet. But why do planets shine so bright? Are they balls of light, like the sun? That doesn’t make sense. They reflect moonlight but not sunlight? Why are they so bright? Why this one? Not twinkling from atmospheric gases or lack thereof, but bright and still, solidarity becoming it. So conspicuous of all the night’s gems; why? Is it like that of the transparent clouds that only reflect sunlight and not moon light? Well, I mean to say is it the opposite, this planet-star, of the transparent night time clouds? Then I heard it: the cry. I thought it was someone yelling on the soundtrack, perhaps it was recorded live. But then I heard it again and this was definitely not that of a crazed fan. This was the cry of a wolf. My heart sped up even more, if that was possible. I was nowhere near the door and I was in the light. I was in the light, alone. I stopped moving and tried not to breath. But the cry was followed by a second, then a third. Each cry was from a different position, creating a half moon around me, closing in. I turned, took out my ear buds. Silence. Then – AAAAAOOOOOHHHHH Oh my god RUN. Next I’m running to the door, my flip flops wet from the condensation in the grass, causing me to slip and slide on my way to the door. No clue how close but the cries got more excited, like running in for the kill. So terrified; I watch the shadow in front of me as I run to the door. Door closes behind me and I’m in. Just as I reach for the next door, I hear them. Just out of sight from the light of the yard, under the veil of the transparency and the hidden secrets and reflected lights, conspicuous to all of night’s creatures, they prowl.

Sorry

I don’t know how to say I’m sorry
Other than “I’m sorry.”
I could say it a million times,
Until eventually it has no meaning.
I can climb the highest mountains,
And tell the whole world how I feel.
I could write you a letter
With only two words written.
I can always call you up,
And cry into the phone.
Or maybe I could come face to face,
With all that I have done.
I want to say I’m sorry,
I just don’t know how.
I want to tell you how I feel,
I just am too scared to say it.
I could always make a broadcast,
So the public knows it too.
I could disappear into the dark,
And hope I could forget you.
I can throw a tantrum like a child,
Maybe that might work?
I could also write a book,
About the way I made you hurt.
Maybe I might just forget about it all.
Maybe then I wouldn’t hurt,
Not even a little,
Not at all.

Dylan

I’m not sure what it is about you that I can’t keep out of mind. Maybe it’s the way your lips, full and pink, took in my kiss and sucked my bottom lip, pulling me closer to you, sending chills of excitement deep into my stomach or when you just gave me a peck on the lips between long, passionate kisses. Maybe it was the way you nibbled my ear and then blew into it, making me shiver. Perhaps it was your hands and the way they caressed my face and ran through my hair; the way they ran over my arms and along my sides, making me giggle because it tickled. Or the way you ran your fingertips through my palm and along my wrist before holding my hand. Or it was your eyes; beautiful blue-green eyes and the way they stared at me. The look you gave me just before you- you know. Or the smiles and smirks you displayed when I made a sound. Or the way you embraced me when we came together and your fingertips grazed my thighs and your lips kissed my neck, my chest; my lips being pulled into something so passionate. Maybe it was when you kissed my thighs, or my stomach. Or maybe it was when you woke me up by kissing my shoulder and opening my eyes to see you above me in the middle of the night, staring back. Or it was the way you held me while we rested; or the way you laid your head against my chest and I kissed your forehead, running my fingers through your hair. Or maybe it was when I had my first orgasm and you kissed me the whole time- long, hard, and never letting go. Maybe it was the way you woke up and thinking that I was still asleep tucked the hair behind my ear, brushing it way from my face in the morning. Maybe that was when I fell for you accidentally.

I can’t seem to think a single thought without you interrupting me. Your eyes, your smile, your lips, and your touch all linger still in my mind after all this time. I want to see you and hold your hand in mine, entwine our fingers, feel our hearts as eyes linger, for just a moment longer feel your arms around my waist, pulling me in for one more kiss. Feel your breath just before you kiss me, feel your heart beat against mine; listen to the soft whisper of the sheets around us moving, feeling each kiss intensify my breathing. The way your lips tickled my ear and brushed across my nose, the way you made my heart stop and start— sending butterflies throughout my body, made me smile. Opening my eyes to see you looking right at me, seeing deep into my thoughts, reading every movement, every sound, every kiss, you are too good to be true.

From Such Great Heights

From such great heights
Oh the world! How it looks so perfect!
From up on high
In the clouds that float the waves of the skies
I can see the true beauty that great men wrote of.
From upon the twinkling beauty of stars
Ah, the loveliness of silence.
From such great heights
Oh the world! How it looks so perfect!
From this bird’s wing
The tree tops dance to singing winds.
From inside this ray of sunshine
The prairies, flowers, mountains, and waters
Shine forever pretty in warmth.
Oh but from this lowest of lows
Oh the world! How it looks so ugly!
From this blade of grass grown in the city sidewalks
I see the footsteps of many who have forgot.
From this falling raindrop
Pollution and dirtiness fall; no longer fresh.
From the many eyes of the fly swatted away
Garbage, annoyance, and impatience I see and feel.
Oh but from this lowest of lows
Oh the world! How it looks so ugly!
From here upon the wings of the moth
No longer attracted to natural fire,
I feel the cold yet dangerous burn of the unattainable.
From behind the steam and smoke
Felt the burn of nuclear plants and coal-run factories.
But from behind the iris of hazel
Inside the palm of skin only months old
Under the toes of feet learning balance
Heard from the inside of new canals
Felt deep within the beating rush of life
Oh the world! How it looks so hopeful!

Good Morning

I push the toothbrush across my teeth
Each bristle moves across molars, incisors, canines, etc
I bend down and spit
I watch the water sweep up the watered down paste and foam
Swirl into the drain and disappear forever
I look up to only look straight into my medicine cabinet
Top shelf: pills
Middle shelf: toothpaste, toothbrush, water glass
Bottom shelf: the washers – face and mouth
I put the blue toothbrush on the middle shelf
In front of the toothpaste, next to the cup
Brush head on right side facing me
I reach for the first bottle
Propranalol: take two twice a day
I reach for the second bottle
Omeprazole: take one once a day
Placing three pills on the second shelf
I grab the glass and turn on the cold water faucet
Fill glass half way, pop pills, drink just one gulp of water
Dump the rest out
Drying off the cup so it doesn’t leave a ring I place it on the shelf
To the right of the toothpaste, with the blue toothbrush head to the right facing me
Sighing, I close the door, completing my daily routine
Looking into the mirror I am confronted with dark curls
Dark, almost black, eyes staring back from the big reservoirs they are hosted in
Inspecting my teeth and return to my eyes’ reflection
Staring at myself, running confidence boosting lines through my head as I was taught
I run my fingers through my hair, feeling the twist of each morning curl
Turning around on the purple mat just big enough for two pairs of feet to stand on
One pair stands
Light switch flips and only the morning sunlight enters the bathroom
Streaming one ray through the window and spotlighting all the dust specks
I turn to the left, walk past the toilet; hesitate slightly at the change of floor
White to dark oak
First step into hallway followed by many
Bare feet making the daily walk.

Outdoors Collection

Woken up by shaking hand
Pulled outside into the night
Sky so black and vast
Millions of stars dot the sky
Already feeling like one in a trillion
Feeling insignificant
Staring at the skies above
Never ending darkness swallows whole
White sheet of shimmer
Banner waving across the sky
Rainbows in the dark
Terrified to keep looking
Too awed to look away
Standing at the end of the drive
Staring at the fields that go for miles
Watching this banner wave
Swallow up my sky in unearthly beauty
Glad that you woke me up for this
I’m happy to have shared it with you.



There is this place that I went
once as a child in the mountains.
I had to hike to the top of the first peak
and on my back I carried bear spray and
trail mix and a wind jacket.
Thousands of feet up I took a rest and
I looked out over the wilderness.
The fog covered the little town below me
and part of the ocean was covered too.
If I looked up the horizon I saw the volcano
surrounded in clouds just like in the pictures.
But I climbed on to the second peak and
when I reached the top I saw the world.
I wasn’t going to go further to the third peak
for that would take a day to do.
I saw a square rock ahead of me
as I walked to it I saw another hiker come up
the other side and place a smaller rock on the big stone.
I looked to my uncle and I was handed a rock—
small, black, smooth, oval.
I was told to place it there
I wish I could remember why.
Maybe I was leaving my mark
and telling others of my journey up.
Maybe I was participating in an
Alaskan native tradition.
I don’t know.
I remember turning around
sitting on a stone and eating my sandwich.
I remember the fog slowly disappearing
the little town below with tin roofs appearing
out of nowhere and the ocean becoming visible.
I remember feeling refreshed
privileged to be a part of something so beautiful.





I wish I could remember where they were
those mountains with smiling faces imprinted
that only smiled in the summer time.
I think they were in the same area
with the mountains that had dinosaur fossils
that I could see in the side of the mountain wall.
I wish I could remember more clearly my trip
to the top of a mountain with my aunt
when I was younger.
I can recall the flowers, the sun, the trees, the heat,
the sweat, the sweet smell of tree bark and new grasses.
I remember the breeze, soft and warm
and I can still feel the lightness I felt
when I reached the high point.
I can taste the trail mix and grapes
the crispness of water and
I can still see clear as day
the city that lay below us as we
knelt on a fallen tree.
I wish I could go back to the time
when I climbed the big tree in the backyard
or when I swung on the tire swing up in the hills.
I wish I could go back to that park with white trees
and sit in the river and lay in the sun
with my mom and brother.
I wish I could go back to the river in the mountain
where the water was teal and so clear
and the rocks were white
like crystals and there were even aquamarine-colored ones.
I wish I could go back to the swimming pools
that were heated and tasted like salt
and were green and the hotel was famous
I think because a president stayed there.
I wish that I could go back to the playground
back to the swing set
back to the slide and back to the merry-go-round.



I remember being terrified of the vastness
the grandeur
the majesty
the height
the danger
of the mountains I lived in.
I was only afraid in the dark
when I would ride in the window seat
and I would not be able to see the mountain.
I just knew it was there
looming over our car
as if it were going to eat me up.
I always imagined scary cavemen running
out of the woods at our car screaming.
I remember the roads without the guardrails
or the tunnel we always passed through
with too many lanes.
I remember being scared to get stuck in the tunnel
blocked from the world by a landslide.
I remember the mountains.
I remember the beauty.
I remember them.
I remember almost everything.

Sorrow

Growing up being told no.
Hearing that he can’t.
Knowing that he could.
If only he had the support.
Slowly losing the ability to believe.
In himself he loses his heart.
His eyes lose that spark.
He becomes dead inside.
No longer caring about life.
Little boy and young man.
No hope for what lies ahead.
Pain and suffering never expressed.
Growing up being told no.
Hearing that he can’t.
Knowing that he could.
If only he had the support.
If only we had known.
Our words and actions say so much.
We play such big parts in a child’s life.
Never noticing the influence we have.
Knowing that it could hurt.
Not caring if it does.
Learning lessons is hard for us.
Children know more than we think.
Saying no and saying can’t.
Breaking down a child’s dreams.
If only we had listened.
If only we had seen.
Our words meant so much.
Our actions told so much more.
If only he had the support.

Poet

Every moment of my day a thought crosses
I write it down as soon as I can
Every conversation is inspiration
I write about it later
Every ray of sunlight streaming through the trees
I create a line or two instantly
Every person I know
I write about in some way
Every feeling felt
I portray here on paper
Every feeling not felt
I imagine and then write it here on paper
Every sound and touch
I remember through my pen
Every thing
I write.

One day, I will find someone to match me.
But I’m in no rush, no hurry.
I will just swim a lazy backstroke,
Down the river of my life.
Watching the clouds above me
In the day,
And the stars in the night.
Wishing and dreaming and waiting
Patiently for time.

Spot of Time

I knew going in I was taking a risk
I can’t believe I’m about to do this
But I did it anyway
Just take the dive
The sensations…
I feel like I could fly away
Were amazing
My stomach is tickling inside
I sensed immortality
Oh my god this is life
I felt my feet touch the ground
Is it over already?
I felt mortality surround me
No regrets.

Sky Fire

I looked up at the sky
waiting for the moment
when the sky would fall
and fire would rain down.
I stood in the same spot
feeling the breeze sweep by
and I waited patiently as
my heart pounded excitedly.
I waited to be a part of history
for a special moment of life
to become a spot of memory
and watch beauty appear.
I stared with a silly smile
as I grabbed your arm
and I pointed to the sky
to the stars above.
I laughed out loud
jumped for joy
and laid down on the grass
staring intently at falling fire.
I fell in love with the sky
that night in the country
just out of reach of the yard light
while watching the beauty of the universe.

Meh R's Dos

Be my heart’s keeper, my rain maker, my umbrella holder, my sunshine commander, my goodnight kisser, my I-need-to-lean-on-you shoulder, my lover, my breath taker, my tear wiper, caregiver, my one-and-only dream maker, nightmare catcher, my butterfly creator, my side tickler, laughter buyer, my true inspirer.



I clearly had rhyme schemes on my mind all day yesterday. haha.

Meh R's

Just a funny poem that I made up sitting here...

I’m a coffee drinker
Cigarette smoker
I swear like a sailor
Risk taker
I’m a partier
I’m a dancer
Laugh maker
Smile creator
I’m a non-believer
Orgasm faker
HAHAHAHAHA
Had to throw that one in there
Joke maker
Big scene taker
Legalize it supporter
Sad movie sucker
Not a Spanish speaker
I’m a picture taker
Not so much a baker
I heart tators
Auto-correct hater
Spell-check lover
Not a studier
Or a Shakespeare taker
I’m an English major
Not a follower
Own path builder
Clarinet player
Shower singer
Lover not a hater
Fountain wisher
A communicator
Ok mediator
LGBT Rights supporter
Dislike the mumbler
All-day sleeper
Playground swinger
The world my inspirer
Pretty good kisser
Hug giver
I’m a cuddler
Journal keeper
Poetic seeker
That’s enough of me in here.

My Friend is in Iraq

Currently, I have one friend in Iraq, another in Nigeria, one in Germany, and another getting ready to leave for training in Georgia. I got two letters from my friend Chris in Iraq, a response to my last letter and a Valentine's Day card. Staring at these two items on my desk, I thought about those out there that have had to lose someone close due to war. My ex is getting ready for training in Georgia and I am so nervous that he will be sent out right away. I'm not happy about him joining. I'm not very happy with the war in general.

I.
A note.
No.
A telegram.
My fear.
A single shed tear.
Love lost.
Memory left.
War.
My heart.
Broken.
You.
No.
A flag.
Triangle.
Stars and Stripes.
Guns shooting.
For memory.
For honor.
Pain.
Too deep.
Torn.
Numb.
Soldier.
Brother.
Father.
Husband.
Mine.
Good bye.

II.
What did he do?
What did he do?
He moves on.
He moves on.
What he did do
moves on.

Shot through the heart.
Shot through the heart.
Telegram at the door.
Telegram at the door.
The telegram shot through the door
At the heart.

Soldiers and funerals full of tears.
Soldiers and funerals full of tears.
Fallen flags are folded.
Fallen flags are folded.
Folded flags are fallen tears
And funerals full of soldiers.

Mother and Father weeps.
Mother and Father weeps.
The Medals for honor held in hand.
The Medals for honor held in hand.
In hand and honor weeps
Medals for the Mother and Father.

What Father did do, Mother weeps for
In hand and honor are
Of the fallen soldiers
Shot through the heart
The telegram full of tears
At the door he moves on
Funerals, medals, and folded flags.

III.
Fill an envelope with your words
And just a few grains of sand or dirt.
Let me know that you’re ok
That you can feel my love far away.
I wait for your letter to arrive
Days and days go by.
Someone at the door
Is it me they implore?
The floor falls away
Becoming free fall.
Men in suit
Letter in hand.
Sorry Ma’am
Walk away.
Children come running
See the yellow paper.
Tears fall down little faces
Within their hearts empty spaces.
Lay in bed
Sleep and dream.
Birthdays and anniversaries
First times and baby kisses.
Shake with every shot
Men and guns in suits.
Watch as two little hands
Drop the dirt.
Not understanding
That Daddy won’t come back again.