Friday, March 21, 2014
Eight Years to almost date,
when what did happen destroyed for sake.
The term of served in isolate,
one from the other in only done,
will be the beginning of the end in stunned.
The age of consent remarkably,
counts with more than what you'll see,
the tab, the total, the destruction once complete,
now just stops to say,
that what you did has had it's day and now the end is over.
Eventually life will ask,
what did happen in the past,
the answer will be to serve the question,
with nothing more than what you'll see,
the absolute and total belief,
that what did happen, happened in repeat.
So many years of separation,
the time seemed like an operation,
to walk, to run, to just survive,
the horror of all that wanted die.
Now this place that I do love,
my home, my house, my safe reside,
embraces me and hugs my life,
for it gave to me the opportunity,
to breathe and not to run from all the things that have been done.
The pictures hang upon the frig,
my cat is still the same one from,
the days when my children would gather,
around the kitchen table with such laughter.
That same butcher block table,
my breakfast nook creates,
the atmosphere surrounding my home is filled with all but hate.
The desk that I use was a dining room remodel,
I type upon the place where our Thanksgivings left a trace,
of all my children and their sweet, sweet face.
My home is warm with memories so long,
the reminders of when we were a family not a wrong,
the decor is familiar to whom I know,
would have loved to be a child that moved back home.
Remember to do what is right,
to fight for things inspite of stings,
to speak your peace and no such brings,
the whole of human in completing deeds.
To just breathe I inhale the thoughts,
what is written has been a lot,
the basis of dream in only talk,
no reality will come from delivery of walk,
unless random came to sent.
The best of done released a stun,
as I not you was shocked by whom,
made me feel the ancient deal,
a pact of what had been so sung.
The bliss in reaching an exist,
the human toll of absolute in role,
ability to state your place,
the path of wonder a dream in make,
halts the answer the question spake.
The fact that life presents such chance,
the choice of which creates romance,
a hand to hold or man to dance,
the lyrics become the speech enhanced.
The turn of page or swirling stage,
the world that seems to take and take,
without resolve of what may be,
the pointed fingers so readily,
destroy the me I want to keep,
it makes the driven in ridden read.
Silently the quiet rose,
discovery developed prose,
sometimes shared often not,
the plot you seek built to mock,
cause erasing, too delete.