The Clyde to my Bonny, he is unwavering protection.
Arms like The Hulk, hold me tight as salty tears flow.
His voice is my favorite song, an earworm in my consciousness,
He keeps the vile beasties at bay when the bile of fear rises.
My Plymouth Rock, always steady, as my knees crumble,
I try not to taste the abyss, the black bitter Nyquil that gags me.
Hopelessness threatens to overwhelm as I gasp for breath.
Clyde is there, he is warm sunshine on a summer day,
Invigorating me as strength recedes, water rushing out of a pool.
Image by pageresource.com
Addiction is a bitter taste,
Recognizing failures and faltering.
Fifteen years; down, down I go,
Smoking away the things.
I feel the sun again,
My head high; the world has color.
How much I had missed,
Laughter, happiness, relief.
I breathe again, see light, hold sunshine,
I have wings and I am taking flight.
Image by ninthcircle.net
They are graceful, stripped down soldiers,
Their arms bare, but strong.
Wind whipping at them,
They maintain their stance unphased.
Their slender branches and proud stance goes unnoticed,
People hurry by, taking their beauty for granted.
A few brown leaves still hold on to the branch,
Keeping from making the journey to the ground.
Looking lonely day in and day out,
Not feeling their beauty is appreciated.
Yet spring renews their beauty.
They become greener, fuller,
And they gently whisper in the breeze as we pass.
Always standing vigilant,
And becoming entirely brilliant.
The graceful soldiers remain.
Powerful, shielding us,
With their full branches
Of green splendor.
No longer sparse.
I’m a child with no cares in the world,
I run and play not mindful
Of my clumsy stumbles and messes.
No bills to pay,
No one to take care of.
Just me, George, and the open fields.
There are playgrounds and school,
New stories to hear
And friends to be made.
The classrooms smell of paint and glue,
And our lunch boxes and snow boots.
I want to be free like this all of the time.
It’s a shame I was in such a hurry
To grow up; be an adult.
What the fuck was I thinking?
Image by William D. Wright
Too large to fit in your streets,
Listen to the slithering of the snakes
Shaped like squiggling s’s.
Listen to the cars amble by,
Horns sounding shrill and annoying,
Rushing into the streets.
Too large are your thoughts of troubles
Weighing you down like war-time mortar,
Sinking your hopes and dreams.
Listen to the streets,
Paying you no mind,
As if you never breathed
Image by little-endian from Deviant Art
There is a fairy princess,
Who is the keeper of the sun.
Whenever she feels sleepy,
She takes her great, black cloak
And drapes it around the sun.
The glittery, shimmery, gossamer
Material of her cloak is
What creates the stars.
When she wakes,
She pulls the cloak off of the sun
To bring back the daylight.
As a child,
I wanted to be that princess.
I wanted to be
The fairy to bring on the night
Because I loved the quietness
Of how the darkness felt.
The hushed tones,
The stars almost making