Black steeds reveal their charged breath with splendid revelry
o'er the piedmont valley .. Green , gray facades sweep across a volley of cannon and tooled steel reflections as Plough hand , Artist and neighbor stand garrisoned before their final hours ..
Morning skies are a terrific blue in springs first fleeting gasp ..
Is Barabbas among these warriors ? If so , let him stand forward !

I could never do better than your crazy ***

Here I am again

Missing you

Feeling alone

Wishing you were holding me

Kissing me

I will never know a love like ours

You will always be a wish come true

But like all good things they end

Like all those I love

You leave.

He was a broken man
Had been since the age of three

She was a flawed woman
She had been since she was four

They grew up way too fast
And all at once

They fell in love

They fell into chaos

The flawed loved the broken
And the broken saw no flaws

Until one day
They awoke to traded places

She was broken
And he was flawed

And they were both losing their minds

And their love was forgotten

For way too long

But they had real love

Even if it didn't have a happy ending.

I Remember THAT Day

I remember that day

I remember that day

THAT DAY………….I FOUND YOU!!!
I remember that ….*******, ****** ***, **** YOUR LIFE TYPE OF **** DAY

We were both just fifteen years old, so rebellious but shy in our own right minds

You were just fifteen years old, when I found you slouched over the steering wheel of your mother’s 1978 Red Ford Pinto

YES, that red Ford Pinto with the rusted out, broken muffler, busted right tail light and six dents on the passenger door (that we caused when we were just 13)

YES, that red Ford Pinto that your mother insisted on driving us to school in, only to have us insisting on her dropping us off a block early, why, because we were too embarrassed to get caught seen in that “hunk of junk”, “*******”, red Ford Pinto.

I sat down next to you, in that red Ford Pinto, but you breathed not one single breathe out of your blue stained lips. I screamed at you “WAKE THE HELL UP, **** YOU!!”
My voice cracked with apology, I was so wrong to yell at you, as thoughtless anger filled my heart with sinful hate. But still not a single breathe passed through your lips.
I whispered in your ear “I am sorry”

I remember, that day and that single note you left on the dusty, cracked dashboard of that red Ford Pinto. That note with scribbled letters running across the wrinkled white paper and the pen that you dropped on the floorboard. That note that read “I don’t understand WHYYYYYYY”

That last letter on that note, that you penned, was flown across the paper as if you didn’t want to leave. THAT LAST letter gouged the wrinkled white paper with remorse and apologies. I felt every syllable that you wrote stapled across my chest as if I was being pierced by a thousand sewing needles that were trying to mend my severed, bleeding heart.

I REMEMBER THAT DAY, IN THAT RED FORD PINTO, WHEN I LAID MY HEAD ON YOUR BARE SHOULDER AND HELD YOU CLOSE TO ME. I REMEMBER OUR FINAL EMBRACE.

I REMEMBER THAT DAY, IN YOUR MOTHER’S 1978 RED FORD PINTO, WE WERE BOTH JUST FIFTEEN YEARS OLD, SO REBELLIOUS BUT SHY IN OUR OWN RIGHT MINDS, I REMEMBER TAKING MY FINAL BREATHE AS I HEARD THE GARAGE DOOR START TO OPEN.