Forget How To Breathe

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That one friendship can cause so much hate mail is unimaginable.

Seriously, I am  considering shutting down my blog.  I know my friend Nandita is shutting down hers.  All because of hateful people like Aruna, and two other vicious cowards hiding behind the names of Juanita and Jill.  At his moment, I have little desire to read posts if I can’t read one of my favorite poets.  And if everything I say or do leads to her pain, why bother to stay in WordPress?  You are leaving me with no choice.

This is for you N.

 

Forget How To Breathe

.

You think I could rip you

from my Velcro heart

Perhaps it would be easy

for you to forget me

All this time

You only had to miss me

While I had the Godforsaken curse

Of having to missing you

Forget you?

I know I can’t

I won’t even try

It would be so much easier to

Forget how to breathe.

How Many Flowers Have To Die (Tears For Parkland, Florida)

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How Many Flowers Have To Die

 

Beautiful gardens full of life

warming us with their hope.

Gardens so full of innocence,

the innocence we lose every

time a storm of hate invades.

When will we cultivate love,

or are we waiting to discover

how many flowers have to die.

 

Photo from Google Images.

My deepest condolences to the the victims, families, and community of Parkland, Florida.  Florida.

 

 

Sightless Isabelle

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Sightless Isabelle

Isabelle heard cries
of terrorism & wars.
It so frightened this
little girl. She felt the
hate & envy circulate
like an awful venom
through this world.

Sightless Isabelle lives
a happy life where love
& hope will always rise.
The child feels blessed
she never witnessed
hatred with her eyes

My wife Allie found this in Google Images.

Fragments Of Me (Time)

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Adults always complained about time.

Never enough time for this; not enough time for that.

My parents were at a dinner party; while I stayed at my friend’s house. I was summoned to the phone.

Barely eleven, I listened to my mother sobbing. Apparently, my drunkard father slapped her in front of all their friends. “Please check  on the house.”

Two flights up, I unlocked the door with a spare key. Moonlight filled the dark apartment.
Terrified, I walked through the quiet living room until I reached the long hallway leading to the back of our home.

I froze.

The man I hated for all of my young life, the tyrant who abused us, lay on the floor with a gun resting inches from his hand.

Fear, relief, joy, and sadness flowed through me like light through a prism.

Fighting the urge to run away, I approached him. The rise and fall of his back confirmed he lived.

Time for my first adult decision even though I knew it meant a beating the next day.

Dropping to one knee, my trembling hand reached for the gun. The weapon appeared to weigh a ton.

I thought of tucking it in my pants like they do in the movies. Then a odd thought crept into my mind.

Whoever said dog is man’s best friend didn’t have a pee-pee.

Shoving the weapon in my jacket pocket I ran out and didn’t stop running until I reached the black railing overlooking the East River.

Removing the gun from my pocket I stared into the barrel.

Why would anyone want to end their life?

There by the river, in a city of eight million people, surrounded by a magnificent skyline, I never felt so alone.

Making my second adult decision, I tossed the gun into the river.

That little boy stood there another hour, admiring the crescent moon, the river, and the city he called home.

He wouldn’t help but wonder…..

If time was as precious as people say, why do adults waste so much of it on hate and violence.