Travel With Me

Travel with me.
Our lives are winding down like the roads on which we'll drive.
So in those last years lets challenge what we can.
See things we have not seen.
Open our eyes wider than this wrinkled, papered skin will allow.
Travel with me.
Across this star spangled country we'll see many things.
We'll sit atop a hill and gaze out onto a field stretching wider than imagined.
Our lives will stretch wider than imagined.
Travel with me.
Our hearts will beat as one like the pulsing of the engine below our bodies.
We'll see life sprout from the ground
While watching our own lives sprout like never before.
Travel with me.
I'll whisper I love you
As we watch a golden sunset say goodbye to the only world it knows.
And as it falls beneath the hills,
Your eyes mirror the glowing orb and in the last light of day
I'll whisper goodbye to the only world that I ever knew.
Travel your last travels with me.

Picture Perfect

It always leaves me disappointed.
Closing my eyes and hoping,
Yearning,
Expecting.
Then I open them to a picture
A picture known too well
And it’s harder to breath.
Harder to see the beauty in this world.
It’s becoming layered with grime,
Layered with dirt,
Layered with blood.
The iron hands of humans reach higher to the sky.
Grasping what is left of our air supply.
And with each grasp,
I feel it in my lungs,
I feel the strain,
The weight,
The smoke,
The pain.
Soon there won’t be much more to grasp.
I feel it disappearing around me,
Falling,
Crumbling,
Into nothing.
And as I close my eyes,
I hope,
Yearn,
Expect something to come to view.
Then I open them to the same old picture,
And I’m always left disappointed.

Charcoal

They stand baron, lifeless, charred.
Their blackened bark a memory of when the sky was once aglow.
Light.
Natural light.
Pulsing in the clouds,
Hugging the black,
Painting it orange.
It piles out from their limbs,
Pumping,
Pumping,
Like blood from an opened wound.
If no one's there to witness its death, does a tree still scream?

Its stopping now.
The black disappearing.
Dissipating.
Gone.
The Sky left a mournful grey.
The product of the terror crumpled,
Its bark a reminder of its death.
Charcoal.
Like that within the artists hand,
A sad portrait drawn.

They stand baron, lifeless, charred.
Footprints indent the muddied ground,
A reminder of the crime.