Peter got his very own egg. His had a package of skittles.
Lizzy got her very own egg. Hers had two rolling dice.
Sarah got her very own egg. Hers had a book of riddles.
Landon got his very own egg. His had bean-bags with rice.
Kathy got her very own egg. Hers had a mini clown.
Henry got his very own egg. His had a lock and key
I got my very own egg, and I was jumping up and down
As this was my first egg that was given just for me.
I had reached the age of ten, so now I was allowed
To have my own egg this easter, and boy was I proud.
I took my egg, I tore it open, and what was inside?
What was inside was suddenly something I wanted to hide...
"What's inside?" Asked Peter and Lizzy.
"What'd you get?" Asked Sarah and Landon.
"Is it candy?" Poked Kathy and Henry.
And I ran away, because nothing is a hard companion.
Nothing. My egg had nothing. I tried to let it go...
It really should've been easier as the months went all too slow...
But nothing, good old nothing: It stayed and seemed to grow...
And nothing's now my only friend, and because I made it so.

I remember the day you gave me the first set of red roses- you did it on New years because you always said Holidays were easier to remember-
I remember the feeling's I got-
Passion.
Excitement.
Anxiety of being treated with such love.

I remember the second time you gave me red roses- it was after we broke up for the third time- you promised we would work it out this time.
I remember the feeling's I got-
Sadness.
Love.
Hope.
Anxiety at thinking It wasn't going to get better.

I remember the last time you gave me flowers, my favorite daisies, you were moving across the country.
I remember the feelings I got-
Depression.
Lost.
Confusion.
Anxiety at knowing this was the last time we would ever have to fix us.

I don't blame you for retreating and hiding away.
I don't blame you for not wanting this to work out.
I do however blame you for making me feel worthless in the process.

I do blame you for the fact that I will forever question any man who gives me flowers and whether for not he is going to leave and never come back.
Anxiety.

I’m used to spending holidays
In the company of friends and lovers
The other day there was no other
Not even a hint of my little brother

I stood in a crowd of perfect strangers

Alone.

The sky was filled with twinkling lights.
All around the booms resounded.
People laughed and time slipped past.
I settled in

To watch,
To listen,
To taste,
To touch...

Inside my mind, I missed her touch,
Her laugh,
Her warmth,
Her smile,
Her love...

There on the trail beside the lake
I tasted all the happy sounds;
The scent of charcoal, blackened meat
The laughs of children, light of feet

Flowers bloomed in the fading sky.
Waves rolled easy on the sandy shore.
The moon rose high to greet the night.
While the stars lay hidden…twinkling.

All caught up in the sights and sounds
I pondered there for quite awhile
Behind these eyes the thoughts did fly
I cannot lie, I wanted more…

…To feel the sand between my toes,
Her hand in mine,
Our thoughts entwined.
To linger on that pleasant shore
And share our time forevermore.

But the past takes flight and now it’s gone.
Daylight drives away the night.
The sun shines bright;
My thoughts are light.
The blues have flown
With the red and white.

School commencements looming;
Bands and grads are tuning,
Moving from room to room
On this last day in June.

From womb to pre-school
Kids migrate,
To elementary/high school dissipate;
Trade schools, colleges,
And universities await,
Punch the clock at the workplace gate.
Summer vacation helps make the break.
But make no mistake,
The last day of school is just for show,
I hope they're schooled enough to know.
The last day of school is just a term
Rightly debunked during life's sojourn:
Ahead there's still life-long learning.

the corner shop near the railway station
opens now unlike when we came here first
when everything would shut on Sunday

the flea market in Mauerpark
is over-ridden with people selling kitsch
but we always go and we love it

everyone is so cool here that I think being cool
isn't hip anymore,
the street is a sea of hipsters in black

it's early Spring and there is still
no ferries on the Spree
but if you walk down the right street

you'll catch a couple of musicians
maybe a juggling act  
that blend in with graffiti and art

in the evening we'll go to the TV Tower
like tourists
pretend we can afford dinner in the revolving restaurant

two hundred and three metres high
and look over the cars on the road to Berlin-Mitte
that look like graceful glowing bugs below

we'll get have a cocktail with dinner in Caramba
in the square (just one)
and listen to light German jazz

with no need to worry
if the transport still runs at night