Sunday, April 24, 2011


(author's note, this was my first published work from when I was in high school)

We wave at others
Apologetically. The harm that lives
With us, like a promise of sleep
And good money, stares off into the blue air
While nightmares become,
For the six-year-old behind the wall,
Home for darkness
And this life. We walk into the ground. Others
Cannot follow us home
And do. We must have met there.

The wind becomes warmer
And Wednesday spreads over the airplane
While down here eyes turn toward the echoes above
And are happy. Maybe
Winter will end soon, with
Explosions of color where the dead stood
Afraid of something. The whispers on the parking lot
Become the only framework to run from.


  1. This is impressive, given the age you mention having writing it. I'll have to explore your more mature work. Thanks for posting a benchmark.

  2. This poem makes me feel things I cannot describe! So good! <3 peace and happiness to you!!

  3. I love to read it over and over and try to visualize it. Words are powerful.