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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required These days, wet – with Linda, & Melanie . Tears fall like dying leaves, their dust, blowing into my eyes. Tears slide down my cheeks, slip off my chin, fall onto my shoulders. They, given birth, created by the steely cold of life’s experiences, from the aching, braking heart, shattered soul of a woman I know. From the uncertainty, doubtful heart, fragile soul of my woman Child, my tears fall, they come crashing down at the birth of, and at the hands of fear of the unknown, fear to face life, even with her wisdom, at her young age. Fear of losing at the game of life as her youth reaches towards growth. These tears, I feel deeply, these tears fall like a torrential rain. They come thundering down on me in suffocating, choking pain For all I want, – lost – experienced, cannot have, want again, want to hold onto – good or bad – some kind of life to sustain. I pray, that one day, the sun comes out, upon them, will shine upon all their heart aches, sorrows, melt away, - all -, in time. Their pains, their heart aches and will set them free to discover, to find their life’s dreams, themselves to bee In this writing – laying before your eyes – my dirge, my song. With this, I pray that you see, find strength, will be strong, take life by the coglioni’s, stand tall and carry on, - knowing that in this life, most are but a pawn – as I have, yet seemed not to have done and find, that I may just not be the, only one of so many – more notable, famous, infamous – who feel they, in all likelihood, left, said, done, gave little and may, or do, feel that their talents, their wisdom, their knowledge possessed- possess- was not truly given, shared as we sit on the edge feeling we have given, shared very little of ourselves. Feeling empty, little, like a dwarf, like elves. Girls I - as you – know that life is but a rocky road. I am not referring to that sweet stuff call ice-cream. I mean the weight of life, that heavy load one carries into that abyss, the ocean deep where no one gets a glimpse of what they seek nor can hear your ( what’s inside you ) silent scream. These places, where no one may know your nightmare, these places no one can see into, know your dream, unless, that is, you have found the freedom to share. For me, all I see – with these eyes, blind –is despair and having been there, I have the experience to compare and the light it shines, opens your doors, let you know I care. My thoughts, my words, this poem shows you, I will always be there B. J. “A ” 2 Wm. J. Atfield Jr. April 14th 2002
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