All Our Heroes Fall

      What if you were the glue that held everything together? What if you were the little bit of joy that kept people from breaking? You, the hope, the pride, the ambassador.

       We cannot bear to look around us. We cannot bear to see each other’s faces. So we look, instead, to you.

       And we can’t take our eyes off of you. That is why we all saw, every last one. We saw you fly. We saw you fly where none of us could follow. We saw you fly to God.

       Now we must find some other way to keep on.

Lost Ideas

I wish my memory didn’t go on strike so often. It makes me look so incredibly foolish when I’m standing in the middle of the room, eyes squinched so tight, nose wrinkled in concentration, hands waving slowly and aimlessly in front of me. As if moving those hands through space will trigger the synapses in my brain to start firing again. As if that blank in my head will suddenly fill with the lost ideas coming back home.

If I had a dollar for every idea that’s slipped through my fingers, I could pay you to remember things for me.

Memento

I heard the birds chirping. 

I heard the heavy popping of the machine guns. 

I heard the screams of my comrades.

I heard the cries of the enemy. 

I remember the blue skies. 

I remember the sight of empty cases flying. 

I remember the fear in their faces.

I remember the anger in their eyes. 

I felt the warm breeze on my skin.

I felt the weight of the souls I took with me.

I felt the bodies hit mine as they fell under the strafing. 

I felt their bullets tear through me. 

Please don't forget.

Remember those that fell. 

I Can't Imagine

I have a pretty good imagination. I was the child whose imaginary world was always intertwined with the real world. What would be considered games to some were another reality to me. Worlds opened up to me; worlds unknown to the rest of man.

But there are some things I can’t imagine.

I can’t imagine what life would be like after losing something like a limb, or my sight, or my hearing. I can’t imagine waking up one morning to the sun gone from the sky.

And I can’t imagine having to face the day knowing you are gone forever.

Means the World

The family (and soon-to-be family) (and maybe-someday family) sat in a circle around the room. After spending the past three days together they were exhausted, but happy. Questions and answers were tossed around the circle, funny stories exchanged, and “remember when’s” laughed over.

The grandparents, sitting next to each other survey their family-daughters, son, daughter-in-law, son-in-laws, granddaughters, soon to be grandson-in-laws- and smile.

The Grandfather speaks up above the other voices and everyone respectfully turns to listen.

“I think I speak for your Grandmother and myself when I say how proud I am, how proud we are, of this family.”

Somewhere in the Grey (for May 25)

We stagger through the fog. It burns our eyes. We don’t know where we are going. We cling to each other.

I open my mouth to speak, in a desperate attempt to communicate. The bitter fog fills my mouth, burns my lungs; it chokes me.

I can’t breath. I can’t breath.

My hand drops from your arm.

You disappear.

My hands grope around in the grey. I can’t find you.

Where are you?

My lungs constrict. I fall to the ground.

A hand on my shoulder. Two more hands pulling me up. 

But I don’t know who it is.

Panic

The Intermission

It's the moment just after you put your hands on the keys, but right before the next notes work themselves into your instinct. It's the moment between steps of a dance, when you're in motion to the next step, but you've yet to recall how it goes right after. It's the part when you're smiling to the crowd, admiring the numbers, and you're just about to pick up the microphone.

The tension was felt like a blind man handling another's face. The next step wasn't yet known, but it was only a matter of time until it grew into action.

One of Us

Fifty grey soldiers.  Our general in front.  Hundreds of others listening over radio.

“It’s true. We’ve found it.  A place without the faceless. ”

Applause.

 “But eighty men died getting there.  Twice as many will die if we try again. The enemy units must be annihilated… there’s only one way to this effectively.”

Murmurings.

“One of us won’t be coming back.”

Silence.

But someone has to go.

My brother’s dead. I killed him.

My friends have burned.   I watched them.

What’s left for me?

I step forward.

Lift my hand.

Am I certain?

Am I sure?

“I’ll go,” I whisper.

Elusus

Red smoke rises in the East.

Black smoke billows from the West. 

And here are we. Stuck in the middle. In the middle of north, and the middle of south. 

Where the winds meet, smash together. Rebounding away. Away. Away. 

The winds carry the ash.

They carry the stench of death.

Of blood. 

And here are we. 

We are the cause.

We are the cure.

We are the destruction.

We are the rebuilding.

But we do nothing.

Our words echo around us as we sit in a cement room.

Shaking from all we have done.

“The world is ended..” 

Ended. 

The Smith

He toiled long and hard at his craft. He hammered and shaped and worked and reworked. When it wasn’t good enough, he stuffed it back in the fire. He tempered it with time and heat. He fashioned it with blood, sweat, and tears. When it was nearly good enough, he held it up to the light, examined every facet, sought out the flaws, and brought it back to the flame.

See the fruit of his labors. See the working of his mind, his hands, his heart. See the passion and the joy of the wordsmith.

Black lines on white page.

god's words

You know when you lay in bed at night, the cool air making your nose red, the covers pulled up around your face, and you just feel lonely? just so lonesome for something, for someone to wrap their arms around you and huddle under the covers with you and kiss your cold nose. i know it sounds weird but he is that to me. i find refuge in his words, and when i’m tired and i feel alone, i curl up in bed, and read what he placed on the minds of a person thousands of years ago. and somehow everything's better. somehow i don’t feel so lonely anymore. somehow the darkness is bearable and the void next to me is tolerable.

Somewhere in the Grey

I’m breathing hard, eyes closed, waiting for the bullet.

My gun still hovers beside my comrade’s head.

And a busload of soldiers, with curses and disbelieving shouts are drowning each other out.

I don’t listen.

But suddenly, a crackle and a voice that’s different:

“Command, this is Delta106, we have affirmative on objective. We’ve breached the perimeter.”

We’re frozen. Staring at the radio.

Because there’s some forgotten sound behind his voice.  Like music.

It’s birdsong.

Is this real?

I drop my gun.

Maybe there is sunlight on our horizon.

Somewhere beyond this ash is the place where life still lives.

Somewhere in the Grey

The answers are sometimes hard to find. Why me? Why her? Why him? Why us? Why now? Why this?

Why?

We crane our heads around corners, peer long and hard down the corridors of life, looking, searching, waiting.

There is comfort in not knowing. There is peace to be found. I don’t know the answers.

But I know the One who does. And He has promised that all shall be well.

The answers are sometimes hard to find. But isn’t that the way mercy works sometimes? Not seeing the black and white but knowing the answer is somewhere in between?

Somewhere in the Grey

Right down that road. Can you see it? 

It’s beyond that turn. Down that hill.

Off in the distance it awaits.

Tell me if you see it, would you please?

I’m trying to avoid it. 

But it still sits there, ominous and growing. Breathing. 

For you see, I can’t live forever. And my death is fast approaching. 

Somewhere in the grey area. Beyond where I can see. 

It’s haunting, forcing me to run away. 

Where can I run that death can not find me? Where it can not reach out it’s pasty fingers and grab hold? 

Perhaps behind the grey? 

finals.

I open up the crimson locker with a swift twist of my hands to find books staring back at me.
The spines read, Biology, World History I, Algebra.
Daunting names.
Frustrating lessons.
Such a long year. I'd learned so much, how am I supposed to remember all of it?
How do they even think that I can get a passing grade for this, anyways? 
She wanted to forsake it all and just go lay on the beach somewhere with a book and a lemonade next to her.
It was too much to ask, though.
She had finals week ahead of her.