"‘Till Fire Do Us Part"

Miles from home, the green and yellow sneak
towards their objective with the roaring sounds
of engines and turbines above their heads. Some
curse their luck on politics, others on science
most on life. Every day, someone new is mourned.

A festival of lights and treats gave all a break
from the continuous, never ending bloodsheds
that came out of 25mm bullet holes. The tired
indulged in drinks and company, for everything
was fine. Music and dancing ruled the night.
This was January 31, 1968; the 48 hour truce
was broken and dishonored. It was
no longer the festival of relaxation. The naïve
stench of burnt humanoids filled the air.
Only the smart survived.

"Moving On"

He was 18 when he came to The City
with nothing but the clothes on his back
and the suitcase that came with. For years
and years, money came back home. But
what would I know? What would I know?
What did I know about his hardships
and sacrifices, about sorrow and pain
and suffering? About looking for scraps
and searching for bottom of the barrel
jobs, which were hard to not leave.
Worked and studied did he until things
finally worked out for us. He was able,
on his own, to send enough money back
so everyone could come to the city
and live a better life. But what would I know?

“Dad?”

What people are born with, I wasn’t.
Most people have something
they can call father or dad
from the moment of their first
loud, innocent wail...
But mine was nowhere to be found.
My ignorance was my blessing
and my innocence a benediction. Void of
outside existence, I lived with only
the loving adult, Eve, for she was without her
Adam; for he was nowhere to be found.
He wasn’t lost nor was he unaware that
he had a son. To him,
I was lost.

"Another Stranger Man"

Though I heard they were loud, I didn’t hear a thing.
Though I thought I had an idea, what did I know?
Too young to know, too young to comprehend,
I waited in my seat waiting for something as was told.
I never took accustom to these giant multi-ton cars that
soared through the skies, through the clouds, closer to the Sun
than Icarus ever could. Around me were many other empty seats.
I guess I was the only one that was staying up pass my bedtime. Still,
I waited in my seat waiting for something as was told.
Then he came, five foot six no more, shorter than the man I knew
as Uncle, no taller than the woman I knew as Aunt. Mother attempted
to pick him up, but he did the same; in the end, neither could win.
I sat in total opposite of the commotion, quiet as the giant powered down
fans that moved the cars outside. Mother beckoned me to come and pay
my respects. I had no idea what to do or who this man even was,
but since I was called upon,
I got up from my seat as I was told.

[How do I put this? It’s been years]
since that day, even more since that other day.
The old man and every other person seem to become really sad
to the latter every single year for the past 40 years. There is
even a ceremony that goes down a few blocks down where our yellow
and red are waved and the soldiers march around in the parking lot.
None of it really makes sense.
I don’t really know a damned thing about my history. Why
should I? It doesn’t affect me. My future doesn’t consist of my past.
What I do today won’t affect my actions for tomorrow.
And how wrong was I?
None of us know hardship until we have absolutely hit the rock
bottom of the Mariana Trench. None of us know heartbrokenness
until our hearts are broken. None of us know the true meaning of hard work
until we have fallen so low; it is the only way to get out.
None of us know the art of time and its properties
until it has covered us in scabs and healed our scars. Even then,
we don’t learn what is necessary until it’s too late. For ignorance
is not a blessing; it is a curse disguised as one waiting ever so
patiently for a chance at backstabbing.