Mom and Dad

In our little house, on our little block,
In our little town, at nine o'clock,
The lights went out, and far too soon,
At least, that is, in my little room.

After dark, Mom and Dad would come alive,
After all the kids, now totaling five,
Were covered up, and settled in,
And their quiet time, could then begin.

From the register in the floor, the upstairs floor,
I could hear the tv, and talking galore.
Through the hole in the floor, the aroma would waft,
As Dad fixed a pizza, and Mom would just laugh.

I was glad they were happy, but for pity's sake,
We never EVER had pizza, when I was awake.
It was tomato soup, saltines, and PBJ's,
At least on Summertime, non-school days.

Now, before I completely drift away,
There are a few more things I'd like to say.
'Til now, I've sounded like a bratty little kid,
Whining about what Mommy and Daddy did.

If the truth be told, about my Mom and Dad,
They gave up almost all they had,
To provide their family's basic needs,
Like a home, clean clothes, and food to eat.

My parents weren't perfect, their flaws made them real,
They showed us up close, the hand life can deal.
And though home was hard at times, I'd do it all again,
'Cause I'd be a different man today, if it hadn't been for them.

Painful Sunday

Don't you hate headaches on a cloudy Sunday?
With nothing but pain, and darkness all around?
A day to worship, and sing out praises,
And all you want, is a day without sound.

Any number of people, are gathered in churches,
Celebrating life, in a number of ways.
Laughing and sharing, in sweet fellowship,
And here you sit, alone, and locked away.

Alone with your thoughts, depression sets in,
It's hard to be joyful, when you just don't care.
You sit, and you think, of all you are missing,
You just want to curl up, and die somewhere.

You take the pills, you rock back and forth,
You pray for relief, with no end in sight.
You know He can heal you, but the pain is so strong,
Your doubt casts a shadow, you can't see the light.

You give up, and go to bed, and hope you can sleep,
You'll trade in the black, for a little bit of gray.
The best you can do, is dream of happiness,
And believe that tomorrow, will be a brighter day.

alone and dark

when i'm down, on the ground, rolling around,
trying to catch my breath,

i start to see, i mean, really see, the real me,
and it makes me laugh.

i don't know why, i laugh, and not cry, as if my lie,
makes it all better,

i know, wherever i go, high or low,
the clouds will gather.

i deal, with how i feel, by taking a pill,
with my morning meal,

it cheers me up, just enough, to deal with stuff,
and keeps things real.

i'm not bitter, and i'm no quitter, but sooner or later,
something has to give,

i've got to find, some peace of mind, and someone kind,
who cares if i live,

or die.

nice try.

goodbye

A Life, So Full

So cold, so lifeless
No sign of ever having been
Just there, so still.

I remember the stories that mouth would tell.
Of wars fought long ago.
Of good times growing up. And sad.
And what it was like getting old. And slow.

Those hands were once strong, laboring hands.
Lifting, pulling, throwing things.
They were always busy. And teaching.
Showing the importance of work. And responsibility.

His eyes, now closed, were once so full of life.
They saw so much, along the way.
Pain and suffering. And joy.
Laughter and love. And loss.

His spirit is finally with the One who made him.
The One he spoke of, so often.
He would smile. And sigh.
He's home now. And happy.

A life, so full.
He gave, as he was given.
At last, he can rest.

One Of A Kind

Take a look in any direction,
As far as your eye can see.
Behold, in all things, big and small,
The beauty of God's majesty.

Look at the insect, that crawls on the ground,
So intricate, and so organized.
Envy the birds, with feathered wings,
Without effort, they traverse the skies.

Notice the trees, that cover the land,
From the soft pine, to the densest oak.
The life giving water, that flows so freely,
From the raging sea, to the babbling brook.

See household pets, long domesticated,
And wild animals, that fight to remain free.
The list could go on, for days and days,
Of the magnificent things to see.

But the greatest of God's Creation, by far,
Is the one that you see every day.
It's the one that He loves, much more than the rest,
So great was the price that He paid.

You are His child, the apple of His eye,
You are always foremost, in His mind.
Out of ALL His Creation, not one compares to you,
For you were wonderfully made, one of a kind.

why yes i am (thank you for asking)

i have unhitched my car from the train of reality
i have unbuckled myself from the booster seat of common sense
i am no longer waiting for decisions to find me
i will search for them on my journey to deeper clarity

what remains of my mind is made up for now
the usual rules don't apply where i'll be staying
a revelation appeared as a flash in my brain
it was suddenly very obvious that i was no longer sane

how or why it happened is ultimately irrelevant
the fact remains i'm sure my brain has stripped its little gears
whether chemical or electrical or physical no longer matters
as far as i'm concerned my brain has turned into pancake batter

i'm sure that some will say they thought i'd always been this way
but i'm sure there will be others who won't handle it so lightly
i'm quite dreading to tell the family i don't know how they'll take it
i suppose i could just stay quiet and try to learn how to fake it

but no i've got to do the last sane thing i'll probably ever do
i've got to tell them all the truth and nothing but the truth
in the end it doesn't matter how my friends and family react though
it doesn't change the fact that i've become a raving wacko

the end

A Young Life Forgotten

On the seventh second, of the seventh minute, of the seventh hour, of the seventh day, of the seventh week, of the seventh year, of my captivity, the stale taste of abuse, and denial, fell on my lips. Unable to stomach the extent of my circumstances, I vomited my horrid memories onto the cheap, flowery, linoleum covered floor of my 'friend'.

Chlorine bleach, mixed with the contents of my young belly, was enough to make me wretch. To this day, the smell of bleach makes me sick. Forced to clean up my 'mess', I cried uncontrollably, until I was told, very forcefully, to PLEASE BE QUIET. I remember Nat King Cole on the radio. He calmed me down. He still does.

How many times, how many ways, how many 'friends', I have no idea. Just faint recollections smells, tastes, sounds. Feelings of helplessness and guilt. Memories of my younger days are gone. All I have are photos of a little boy, looking lonely, lost, shy, afraid. Perhaps it's better that way.

Some memories deserve to die.