Goodbyes change thingsWords will always beGoodbyes change things by changers-n-mash
of consequence; except in
the face of goodbye.
Words will ceaseOn days when words falter,Words will cease by changers-n-mash
When there is no too much “I love you”
and kisses are wishes of constant us
thus never ‘part lips-words falter.
Eyes close; see invisible no-you-I
for closeness is more than intertwine
and heartbeat rest
be still and know we.
They say one day words will cease.
Still, we will know love
even this is beautifulMuted tones of chirpy songs and quiet replies,even this is beautiful by changers-n-mash
punctuated by toilet breaks and
grunts of playful frigid hands;
return to kisses of bad breath and bitten lip.
And beautiful beginnings smile in the stillness after rain
gentle morning hues of bedroom warmth
to laughter and mischievous eyes close and kisses… kisses... kisses
that wish for always and forever and not end.
But loving tears were (nearly unseen) caught
and held between the soft breast of here and now–
tomorrow, “even this is beautiful” she said,
and Goodbye has never stopped heartbreak.
symphony stellataone of my earliest memories -symphony stellata by Lissomer
my mother, steadfast mentality
slowly driving her forward, repeating
repeating re-pea-ting bar by bar
nocturne number eight in d flat major;
never anything less than perfection,
even when fingertips wear thin,
when patience wears thinner,
and chopin fades into dusti am a child born of icy constellations,
cigarette smoke, and canorous chords,
composers whispering at the edge of my sensesblack-garbed, it's grandmother's funeral -
my violin cries massenet's méditation.
my thirteen year-old heart has never
felt so incapable of expression,
so goddamn inadequate, and d major
has never sounded so heartbroken.
we return to a phone call from father,
his composure cracking as he tells us
we'll be doing this all over again;
96 hours, two grandmothers gone,
now all i have is massenet and
it isn't fairwe'd never know it by looking at the sky,
but countless stars waxed requiem to
create us; cenotaphs in the empyrean blacksixteen years old and i can breathe -
The Only Memory of My Fatheri.
Child's Name: Nicholas Aaron Swaner Sex: Male Date of Birth: Apr. 17, 1993 Time of Birth: 08:43A Place of Birth: Hospital Location of Birth: Urbana, IL
Children have a strong need to feel important and worthwhile. Parents and caretakers should praise accomplishments and provide opportunities to experience freedom and independence.
My eyes are cloudburst grey. I knew this even at age four, when I was old enough to count the years I had lived and yet still young enough to do so with my fingers.
I certify that this child was born alive at the place
and time on the date stated. James L Shepherd
Children begin to understand danger and even the concept of risk-taking at a young age and at times can become quite fearful.
I have always been afraid of open water where I cannot see past my father's lake-surface blue eyes.
I certify that the personal information provided on this certificate is corre
Chopin Nocturne#2Chopin Nocturne #2
She lays a her hand down, a caress on inhale, and tentatively pushes the key in. Memory returns, an ebbing tide revealing the silver sand below. Her left hand joins, just as hesitant, with kisses of its own. Fingertips dance, butterflies against the white ivory. The memory continues until discord; the sound sharpens and flattens, falling upon deaf tones, and the echo in the room clatters to a halt. She breathes out, remembering to cycle. Her hand strokes the surface before rippling and trying the refrain again and then again.
She is a ghost hovering over the polished black wood, white reflection staring back at her. Sad eyes lose themselves to the varnish and silver bolts that hold the pieces together, into the swirling cords and vibrations the piano harbors. All the thoughts that raged in her head cease. Peace settles like a leaf upon water's surface. Her hands play on passed the troubled refrain.
She plays wordlessly.
Her eyes have closed,
Her breath held