A protector,
a brother once but now it’s me.
He wanted not
to have to care for the boy.
Because of his own hidden hurt.
His own disconnect
from his little boy.

The hurting part wants Dad.
Is heartbroken.
Afraid for himself,
of himself,
and all alone.
Just wants
to be held.
Wants to feel safe.
Loved through the pain.
Seen.
Acknowledged.
Recognized.

I was reading a 2005 edition,
Of an Oxford dictionary, and,
And a 1990 version of the,
Websters, New Thesaurus,
Yes, it was a slow evening,
That day. Two common words,
You may often hear, or say,
Why and but, could nowhere,
Be found, as I searched away.
The both are used in negative, or positive ways,
Depending on what you are expressing, and your attitude,
At the time. But you are so sweet, to but I am,
Doing it my way. Why, that was so kind, to,
Why, the hell did you do that.
If you read every word in both of those books,
You learn a lot, and you’ve read almost every word,
In every other book.


                             The Original: Tom maxwell © 07/02/2024 AD

though a storm can reveal a tree’s roots.
their essence remains.
through the soil, through every crevice.
a home is still a home.
no matter how far it moves.
no matter how fast and far time moves.
the eyes learn different than hearts.
the body reacts. soon lost in the gaping hole
backfilling a testament with everything tangible.
hearts like tree roots.
grow and they twist, and they turn.
they will always be there.
my heart seeks to learn from yours.
growing big and thick.
though a storm can reveal a tree’s roots.
very seldom, does it remove every root.
beneath the skin, where my heart and yours exists,
layer after layer of dirt blessed by the gift of life.
no matter how much the storm rages.
a piece of you and I will always exist

Demonstration and

imitation, play and learn --


to play together.

I’m just a stone; skipping carelessly
through streams of love.
  One
      Two,
          Maybe three
Seeing how far I’ll make it this time; distant
enough to not see where I immediately sink.
  One
      Two
          Three,
             I made it to four
Still however far you go, the awkward silence
you can hear, is a distant failure’s echo.
  One
      Two
          Three
             Four,
              Must be luck to make five
With the smooth skins of stone, often to tattoo the
smoothest words on tongue; patiently ready.
One
      Two
          Three
             Four
              Five,
               Honestly, best not to count on your failures,

Its so easy to lose count, but just count on one:
—the one day you eventually find what you’re looking for.
One day does feel like a distant arrival, still it will be
one day, you’ll know you have found the one.

Beneath the canvas of the starlit sky,
A beacon burns, a lullaby.
Through shadows cast, a tale unfolds,
Of a love more precious than gold.

In shadows interlaced, the glow would sing,
A celestial whisper, a familiar wing.
I'd stray at times, chasing the day's fleeting gleam,
Questioning the light, like a forgotten dream.

Resentment clung to the flickering light,
As if returning home was a surrender to night.
In my heart, a whisper of pride,
Home meant I hadn't soared wide.

Through the years, the light reframes,
No longer a symbol of forgotten aims.
Like moth to a flame, I’d circle back,
To a hearth that murmured, a quiet track.

Now, the light's not a sign, not a line in the sand,
But a soft place to land, in an unknown land.
A sanctuary, a heartbeat, a welcoming roam,
In the cadence of shadows, I find my home.

The door swings wide with a creak and a sigh,
A refuge awaits, where tears can dry.
So, as I wander life's unknown,
The light guides me back, a beacon of home.