Could you imagine that we would ever sit where we are sitting amongst the people we are? Not far from when we couldn’t afford a dream… and now we live a dream…
I know happiness at last.
Broken pieces picked up by me.
Never where they are meant to be.
Building upon broken bits.
I push until the pieces fit.
Until I can see inside of me.
The broken spirit there used to be.
I build around it until it sits.
Stand it up so it can’t quit.
Broken, but still useful to me.
This broken spirit inside of me.
She comes into your life and brings nature’s blessing. And with her entrance comes a curse of wanton passion. The grass is still alive as it blazes in the sun. The chorus of our laughter floats gently in the Spring breeze. We are the definition of love and our hands are linked as we dance amongst the growing and the grown alike. We enjoy timeless sunsets on picturesque settings creating canvases waiting to be painted at each moment. We love.
Time works wonders and bonds grow firm. We resolve to walk quietly into the night together. Hands held tightly against the shadows we once faced alone. We pick each other up in the heat of the Summer, against the blazing sun and humanity’s punishment. We turn as one, in unison with one another’s needs. I am your need and you are mine. And like an oak tree we grow together.
The rain has come and we have weathered storms. We still touch… but sometimes our hands Fall like leaves from our tired limbs. The chatter of children running around our base keeps us united, we are still united with finger painted signs and chalk figures. But some nights are cold and the moon shines two shadows upon the ground.
It snows here in Denver. The Winter seems to be most of the year… at least lately. But even with the constant ice, it does melt with the strength of will. A will we share each morning and return to each night. The seasons form a timeless ring that hardens into a golden promise. They touch each time our hands unite with infused emotion. Regardless of what emotion that is the presence of feelings means that we still care.
Jason C. Cushman
Can I write it all? … Even a life of scars.
Showing a sky not full of stars. A life that starts after a pause.
I see the child I used to be. A child that seems to flee from me.
A past I once could see. Is now a blessed blur to me.
A vision I see through tears. Real tears, from real fears.
So much to run from.
Until one day I said I was done.
I killed the child I once was. Rejecting all that I came from.
And here I stand, the standing end.
Pen in hand, I finally begin.