Replayed memories metamorphize you
Back into my arms, make you real again.
Every day of pain I remember your poise.
The effort it was for you to awake and move;
I can only imagine what life was for you.

You saw me almost die in a car,
Well the aftermath anyway.
You flew to Florida, on my worst day,
well the aftermath anyway.
As for me, I see your aftermath.

One cannot appreciate the sense of emptiness,
the sense of abolute loss, unless
they have gone through it themselves.
No question. This pain is real.
Something real without tangibility?

A boxing match continues with my demons,
throwing hooks and uppercuts 'til the heavy bag
falls from the ceiling, backhand right.
Down to the ground it falls, it is still there.
My absolute anger rages from time to time.

A fire burns thoroughly, and usually harnessed
within eloquent poetry, bad poetry, poetry of loss.
You have given me so much, but call me greedy,
I need more of you, so I can become the complete
man you set out to groom me into.

07/11/2006

Author's Note: *Archive - Miss You Mom

Posted on 05/16/2007
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