This Blessed Sip of Life

“Hello, how are you doing today
I hope I find you feeling healthy”—
your smile broke like spring after too long a winter.
We met by chance,
but it felt like gravity had drawn us in.

“Could I love you? Could you love me?”
The world held its breath.
Your laugh said yes before your mouth ever did.

“Say, my love, I came to you with best intention
You laid down to give to me just what I’m seeking.”
And you did.
So I asked,
“Kiss me, won’t you kiss me now?”
Because I wanted to give you everything and asked for nothing in return. Other than joy.

We stitched our lives together with whispered promises.
“Hold my hands, your hands—
So much we have dreamed.”
Your hand in mine,
the future felt like a secret only we understood.

“Oh, please, lover, lay down
Spend this time with me.”
And we did,
under stars that blinked in approval.

Children came.
And laughter.
And little hockey skates by the door.
“Celebrate we will
Because life is short but sweet for certain.”

We were a painting in motion,
“Our love is so right—
Forget the clouds that rain down on you.”
Two of us. Anything felt possible.
“Two of us together, we could do anything, baby.”

But time speaks in silence.
One day, I noticed the pause between our words.
“You could look inside and see what’s on my mind
I let you down, oh, forgive me.”

I did try.
You did too.
But something between us shifted.
The PTSD became too much and we didn’t know how to navigate.

“You crush me, with the things you do,
and I do, for you, anything too.”
That balance turned to burden.
If only we had worked on our mental fitness rather than turning on each other.

“I fall so hard inside the idea of you,”
not you—
not anymore.

“Wanna stay but I think I’m gettin’ outta here.”
And you did. And so have I.

“Everybody asks me how she’s doing
Since she went away
I said I couldn’t tell you
I’m OK, I’m OK.”
But I wasn’t.

I replay the good days
like old home videos.
“Ride my bike down the old dirt hill
First time without my training wheels.
First time I kissed you I lost my legs—
Bring that beat back to me again.”

“I know I’ll miss her later
Wish I could bend my love to hate her.”
But I never could.

“This blessed sip of life, is it not enough?”
Some days, it feels like it is.
Other days, I drink it down bitterly.

“And we were so much younger
Hard to explain that we are stronger.”
But we are.
Just not together anymore.

“Stay, beautiful baby
I hope you stay, American baby.”
You didn’t.
But I hope you found whatever you were looking for….
So many words unsaid.

“And if I don’t see you
I’m afraid we’ve lost the way.”
Maybe we have.

But still,
“I shall miss these things.”
The laughter in your eyes.
The weight of your head on my shoulder.
The silence between our words.

“Lovely lady, I am at your feet, oh God I want you so badly.
And I wonder—this: could tomorrow be so wondrous as you there sleeping?”
It once was.

And though
“I let you down—
How could I be such a fool like me?”
I carry no bitterness.
Only love.
Faded, but still honest.

“But I do know one thing—
And that’s where you are, is where I belong.”
Was.

And maybe
that’s enough.

© 2025 Shawn Oen. All rights reserved.

Sammy the Schnoodle

You came with no warning, a bundle of curls,
Eyes wide with wonder, docked tail in soft swirls.
She handed you gently, then kissed me goodbye—
Duty called her, across desert sky.

I didn’t expect you, wasn’t quite sure.
A leash, a crate, *** on the floor.
But silence was heavy the moment she left,
And your little heart filled in the cleft.

We wandered the streets in the hush of the night,
Learning each other in dim porchlight.
You’d tilt your head like you understood,
Each broken thought, each mood, each “should.”

Endless walks down familiar roads,
You guarding my heart in quiet code.
Car rides like therapy, windows rolled down,
You made me smile when all felt drowned.

Then the day the bridge gave way to the sky,
Steel and screams, sirens that cry.
You sat by my side, unshaken, aware—
A grounding soul in thick, shaken air.

Through fear and rubble, through grief and the news,
You offered your silence, your nonjudging views.
No medal, no words, just your paw on my knee,
Reminding me gently, “You still have me.”

Seasons turned slow, then eighteen months gone,
She came back to find us, bonded and strong.
Not just a pet, but a part of my core,
The quiet teacher who opened the door.

Because of you, I learned how to stay,
To love without words, to show up each day.
You softened my edges, you taught me to bend,
Prepared me for fatherhood, friend to the end.

Now when I hold my child in the hush of the night,
I remember our walks, the streetlamp light.
Sammy the Schnoodle, unplanned but true—
The gift I didn’t know I needed was you.

© 2025 Shawn Oen. All rights reserved.

Two Wheels, One Heart (Almost)

I dreamed of roads not walked but wheeled,
Of gravel paths and tires sealed,
Of sunlit mornings side by side,
You, and me, on a morning bike ride.

I’d speak in tones both sweet and bold,
Of frames in purple and gears of gold,
“A bike that’s built with you in mind—
Se xy, safe, fast…a rare design.”

I pictured trips with maps unrolled,
Family tours through fields and corn,
Picnics packed and tires spinning,
Memories made, the whole clan grinning.

But your eyes never matched my pace,
No spark, no thrill lit up your face.
You’d gently smile—or just say no,
And let the hope fall soft as snow.

You turned me down, again, again,
My offers met with cool refrain.
My Hail Mary: “A gym?” I asked. “Yoga?”
You shook your head, just told me no.

I bargained dreams, I begged, I tried,
But saw the truth you couldn’t hide.
This wasn’t yours—it’s mine alone,
No shared pursuit, just me, wind-blown.

So I let go the tandem view,
Strapped on my shoes, chased skies of blue.
With friends I ride, with legs set free,
But still, I’d wished you’d ride with me.

Some passions bloom, some seeds don’t grow—
Love makes space to let that show.
And though you’re not beside my wheel,
I ride on strong. I ride and heal.

© 2025 Shawn Oen. All rights reserved.

Bay One
HCMC Stabilization Unit

We stand in the bays where chaos lands first,
Where sirens deliver the battered and cursed,
Where blood speaks louder than words can shout,
And the line between life and death plays out.

The worst that humans do with their hands—
Steel, fists, gravity, bullets—no one understands.
A look in their eyes, sometimes blank, sometimes wild,
Sometimes it’s a man, sometimes it’s a child.

We patch what we can in fluorescent light,
Hold back the dark with our gloves pulled tight.
A breath returned is a battle won,
But the war? It’s never truly done.

Some come in screaming, some come pleading,
Some carried by hate, some swallowed by pills.
We don’t ask why—it’s not ours to know—
We just press and suture, and tell them, “Go.”

And then they come back—again, again,
Same wounds reopened, same cycle of pain.
Sometimes we see hope; sometimes just delay.
Sometimes we wonder why we stay.

But in between the screams and moans,
We witness the soul rebuilding its bones.
A girl who wakes, a heart that beats,
A mother’s cry when her boy finds his feet.

We see resurrection in the smallest spark—
A touch, a blink, a pulse in the dark.
And still, the ones we mend may fall,
But that doesn’t make our work small.

This place is heavy with what it holds—
The truth of the world, both savage and bold.
We clean the wounds of a broken street,
And sometimes, just barely, make it beat.

So if you ask how we carry this weight,
The violence, the cycles, the edge of fate—
We don’t have answers, just blood and breath,
And the stubborn will to wrestle death.

In Bay One, Two, Three, and Four… where the broken descend,
We’re not just healers—we’re witnesses, friends.
And though they may return, and return once more,
We’ll be here still, behind the secure door.

© 2025 Shawn Oen. All rights reserved

The Secret Miles
2024 Lutsen 29er, for those who know….

We started beneath skies pretending to shine,
Wheels spinning forward, all feeling fine—
But the woods had a different tale to tell,
One of mud, of water, of slipping through hell.

Thirty long miles, deep in the trees,
Water so high it soaked past our knees,
Chain grindin’, brakes cryin’, grit in our teeth,
And still more climbin’ just waitin’ beneath.

There’s a silence in suffering no crowd can hear,
No cowbell cheers echo back here,
Just you, your bike, and the voice in your head,
Asking, “Why?” while you pedal instead.

We laughed through the muck, ’cause crying felt cheap,
We pushed when the trail got too cruelly steep,
We found strange joy in the cold and the grime—
A bond born quiet, outside of time.

The finish line glistened—clean, serene—
Set on Superior Golf Course, trimmed and green,
People clapped, handed out drinks with pride,
But they didn’t know what we left back inside.

They didn’t see the falls, the spats,
The jokes we cracked soaked through like rats,
They didn’t feel the weight we hauled,
Or how the forest, for hours, stalled.

But you knew. And I knew. And that was enough—
The trail tried to break us, but we stayed tough.
And in that shared silence, beyond the cheer,
We carried a truth no one else could hear.

It’s not in the medals, not in the time—
It’s in every unspoken, mud-covered climb.
And that, my son, is the real reward:
A secret pact, forever stored.

© 2025 Shawn Oen. All rights reserved

Headwinds and Heart

I taught you grit not in soft-spoken words,
But out where the wind howls louder than birds,
Where dust coats your teeth and the sky stays wide,
And the gravel don’t care how strong you ride.

Emporia called us with whispers of stone,
Fifty hard miles we’d tackle alone—
Or so it would seem, with the headwinds ahead,
Thirty long miles where the brave ones tread.

The Kansas wind fought us at twenty-five strong,
A punishing rhythm, an unholy song,
It pushed us back like a stubborn tide,
But grit, my son, is the will to ride.

Not when it’s easy, smooth, or fair—
But when every turn makes you gasp for air,
When your legs cry quit, and your thoughts agree,
But your heart says “kid, just follow me.”

We leaned into pain, into purpose and pride,
I watched you battle with every stride,
Your face set firm, your eyes locked true,
And I knew in that moment—I’m learning from you.

This race was more than the finish line’s glare,
More than the medal or the stories we share.
It was proving that strength lives deep in the bone,
That courage shows loudest when you feel most alone.

So when life brings storms you can’t outrun,
Remember this ride, my gravel-spun son.
Head down, heart up, keep your hands on the bar—
Grit isn’t winning. It’s knowing who you are.

© 2025 Shawn Oen. All rights reserved

Never Proud Of You

Twenty years, I’ve held the line,
In silence strong, through rain and shine.
No medals pinned upon my chest,
Just tireless steps and little rest.

I gave my hands to healing pain,
To strangers’ needs, through loss and strain.
Spent 10 years with kids on frozen rinks,
While others cheered, I stood and blinked—
Exhausted, cold, but always there,
A shadow shaped by love and care.

Two hour commute per day, behind the wheel,
To give my small world a safer feel.
A house built by aching limbs,
With every nail, love whispered hymns.
I bled into those walls and beams,
So others lived their easy dreams.

Gravel roads and distant trails,
Where will alone outran the gales.
I conquered Big Sugar, I conquered Unbound,
With fire that scorched the broken ground.
Victories that few could see,
Except the man I swore to be.

But not one time, through all the years,
Through swollen joints or stifled tears,
Did she say what hearts ache to hear—
A truth both simple and sincere:
“I’m proud of you.”

So here I stand, not crushed, but worn,
Not bitter, though my soul feels torn.
I carry silence like a stone,
But I have never walked alone.
For in the mirror, I now see—
A man who’s lived with dignity.

And if her voice won’t ever ring,
I’ll still rise proud of everything.

© 2025 Shawn Oen. All rights reserved