The Leftover Man

I gave the world my younger years,
My sweat, my hands, my quiet tears.
Built homes from bones and dreams from dust,
Held hearts like glass, in sacred trust.

Love, I poured it like a flood,
Painted pain in shades of blood.
A thousand gifts I gave away—
Now all that’s mine is shades of gray.

My canvas bare, my toolbox closed,
Muscles firm, but heart exposed.
The artist still lives in these veins,
But carries scars like weathered chains.

I tried to keep the center whole,
Held tight the threads, played every role.
To keep the family safe and near—
Their laughter close, their silence clear.

I fought for “us” when it got tough,
When words were few, and love felt rough.
But sometimes even strongest glue
Can’t hold a bond that’s split in two.

They say “Start over,” like it’s light,
Like fire still burns through every night.
But embers don’t always crave the flame,
And effort’s not a younger man’s game.

Could I love again? I don’t know.
There’s warmth still buried under snow.
I’m fit, I’m fierce, my hands still build,
But the soul inside feels half-unwilled.

Yet if she came, with eyes that see
The scarred masterpiece inside of me—
Would I rise, and try once more?
Or just nod gently, close that door?

I have so much—but is it wise
To trade the calm for unknown skies?
Still, love is work, and I’m a man
Who’s built more life than most folks can.

I kept the fire, I fed the flame,
I stayed when others left the game.
For family, I bled and tried—
I’d do it all again with pride.

So maybe I’ll just wait and see—
If love returns, it earns its key.
Not desperate, but open wide—
A life rebuilt, with none to hide.

Awakening

I built my walls from quiet pain,
Stone by stone, through fire and rain—
A soldier first, but still a man,
Holding weight no heart could stand.

In jungle hush and shadowed glen,
I watched the worst of what we can.
Guatemala carved its name
In places I could never name.

I carried blame like sacred fire,
As if I’d lit the funeral pyre.
Though orders rang and chaos reigned,
I wore the guilt, I claimed the stain.

I feared the monster in my skin,
Not from without—but deep within.
To guard the ones I loved the most,
I made myself a haunted ghost.

But time—unyielding, slow, and kind—
Kept whispering that I might find
That wounds once again buried in the sand
Could one day bloom if touched by hand.

And so I cracked, I let it break,
The dam I built to stop the ache.
And in the flood, I found a spark—
Not all I am is forged in dark.

The world grew new beneath my gaze,
A softer truth, a warmer blaze.
I saw the child beneath the gun,
The man who longed to feel the sun.

The blood was never mine to claim,
The acts, though witnessed, weren’t my name.
And though the past can never fade,
It doesn’t own the life I’ve made.

Now I emerge, no longer small,
Beyond the shelter of my wall.
I show the world, I show me too,
The soul I always somehow knew.

Not just a soldier with regret,
But someone rising stronger yet—
Not perfect, but at last, set free,
To live, to love, and finally be.

© 2025 Shawn Oen. All rights reserved.

Built for the Fire (more than ever)

I could stay numb.
I know how.
I’ve done it—
sat in the quiet aftermath,
let the weight of loss press me still.

It’s safe there,
in the ache that asks nothing.
No risk,
no rejection,
no reminders of what we once had.

But I wasn’t built for numb.

I was built for heat,
for tongue and lip against skin,
for tangled sheets and laughter
that opens something holy inside.
For conversation that strips the armor
and hands that say
you’re not alone here.

So no—
I won’t shrink.
I won’t hide behind the ruin.

I want love again.
Not the edited kind—
not filtered, polite, or halfway.
I want the messy, honest kind,
the kind that sees me, stays, and builds.

I want closeness that burns with truth,
touch that doesn’t just touch skin,
but says something deeper,
says you matter. You’re real. I’m here.

I want to risk it all again—
not because I forget the pain,
but because I remember the feeling.
What it’s like to be alive in someone’s arms.
What it’s like to look across the room
and know: this moment, right now, is everything.

Yes, I’ve been hurt.
Yes, the loss nearly wrecked me.
But I refuse to stay frozen.

It’s human to want love.
To crave the sacred electricity
of closeness, of presence,
of hands and lips and hearts saying
let’s try again.

So if I love again—
and I will—
it will be fully,
boldly,
fiercely.

Because even after all I’ve seen,
I still believe:
there’s nothing braver
than choosing love
when you know exactly
what it can cost—
and you do it anyway.

© 2025 Shawn Oen. All rights reserved

The Hug That Never Happened

They sat in silence, inches apart,
Two aching chests, one broken heart.
A single word could bridge the gap,
But pride stood tall, a cruel mishap.

The morning light through curtains poured,
Like grace that neither one implored.
A touch, a glance, a soft “I’m sorry”—
Could’ve rewritten all the story.

She brushed her teeth, stared at the stream,
He watched the wall, lost in a dream.
Each waiting for the other’s cue,
To do what both just meant to do.

A hug—just that. No grand parade.
No speeches long, no debts repaid.
Just arms around and tempers softened,
The kind of peace they’d both forgotten.

But silence grew where love had been,
A slow erosion, paper-thin.
And lawyers came with suits and sighs,
To drain their banks and split the ties.

No scandal flared, no great affair,
Just missed connections, vacant stares.
The final line, a quiet shrug—
All for the lack of just one hug.

Now a year has passed, and so has he—
The boy who once sat on their knee.
He builds his walls with heavy care,
Afraid of love that won’t be there.

He flinches when voices start to rise,
He searches truth behind goodbyes.
He wonders why the warmest homes
Can turn to halls where no one roams.

His laughter, once so quick to bloom,
Now echoes softer in his room.
He says he’s fine, but in his eyes—
You see the cost of grown-up lies.

And they—the two who chose to part,
Now carry shards inside their heart.
Two separate lives that once were whole,
Now ghosted by a half-lived soul.

They fake their smiles, they learn to cope,
They grip at joy, they reach for hope.
But every quiet night reveals
A wound that time just never heals.

They’ll build new paths, they’ll find their way,
But something pure got lost that day.
For all the things they rose above—
They’ll never quite outrun that love.

Two people who will always ache,
For what they lost, and didn’t take.
And all because, when push had come,
They chose the cold and not the hug.

© 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

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.

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

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

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

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.

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.