Everyone walks around
carrying on their shoulders
a heap of sorrow
the sorrow
of so many things
never attained
the sorrow
of so many things
that never came to be
Inside every heart
a tragic tale
playing out
in the drama
unfolding within
someone is wounded
someone defeated
someone is fighting
in silence
within
Are we all
seeking the strange happiness
of becoming
a tragic hero?
Twenty-five years have passed,
yet the memory still remains,
a morning filled with sorrow,
a nation washed in pain.
The towers reached toward heaven,
then disappeared from sight,
leaving behind a silence
that still echoes every night.
We remember those who never
made it home that day,
the mothers, fathers, sons and daughters
who were taken far away.
We remember every hero
who ran toward the flame,
while others ran for safety,
they answered when we called their name.
The firefighters and the officers,
the strangers helping strangers too,
the countless acts of courage
from red, white, and blue.
We remember those in heaven,
and the families left behind,
the empty chairs, the photographs,
the memories frozen in time.
Though years may pass before us,
their stories will not fade.
For every life that was taken,
a promise must be made:
To remember their names,
to honor what they gave,
to cherish those beside us,
and never forget the brave.
So today we bow our heads,
with hearts both proud and torn,
and whisper through the years:
We remember.
We honor.
We will never forget.
Born with nothing
Always Dreaming
Walked without knowing
Learn to learn
Holding what I could
Stand where I stood
Break without Breaking
A short felt burn
Empty feeling
Refusing to see quiting
Always engulfed
By choices that wasn't
I scraped for needs
I broke deep within
Life new beginning
I slowly woke up
I couldn’t live without her. I rode away.
She finally left me I’ll not gainsay.
He was a handsome gambler, a slick cheat.
She said that he made her somehow complete.
I have my horse and saddle, and my gun.
I rode off into the afternoon sun.
Red, red, it was like my still bleeding heart;
Fading to blackest black as I depart.
I worked on my good ranch and watched it grow.
Of an evening I still missed her so.
I was certain I would never be free.
When she left she took a big part of me.
After a year I rode into a town.
I saw her there, the gambler’s luck was down.
He had left her without any support.
She ran straight to me as her last resort.
If she had cheated on me once before
She would cheat again, I knew in my core.
I rode away laughing, finally free.
She could no longer make a fool of me.
Tragedy lies not in floods
Or in bankruptcies
But in whispers of lonely lovers
And unspoken intimacies
Visage
like a frightened owl
she gazes
into the looking glass
frozen foreboding
her lonely companion.
Shadows coil
viridescent and haunting
in the snowy canopy
of sardonic mist
where a bygone lover
moans his blood elegy
before a cuckolded liege
who brandishes
his razored lance.
Why it must be so tragic
That madness seems to be
Consolingly nostalgic
Salvation, setting free
Your troubled mind from all
The reasons you can’t bear
To make of it a seasonal
Depression in the air
And as you feel deranged
You hear the angel say
To us you are no stranger
Here comes a better day..
In shadows taken, at the age of seven,
A stolen light beneath a sunless heaven.
The world outside, a memory growing cold,
A silent story, in a cell untold.
Seven long years, the clock a broken sound,
No laughter here, no safe or hallowed ground.
Then the sudden light, the prison door undone,
At fourteen years, beneath a stranger sun.
A ghost returned to a life no longer there,
Haunted by whispers and the weight of air.
The freedom was a cage of a different design,
Filled with the wreckage of what used to be thine.
The scars unseen, they etched a different fate,
A fragile soul, burdened by fear and hate.
The world moved on, but he remained behind,
Tangled in webs that held his heart and mind.
Just a decade lived, after the chains were shed,
At twenty-four, he joined the silent dead.
A fleeting candle, burnt out far too fast,
A life of fragments, of a shattered past.
The tale is told in numbers, stark and brief,
A quiet end, a final, sad relief.
(Five-year-old Timothy White, whom Steven rescued from his child molester, Kenneth Parnell, was one of Steven's pallbearers at age fourteen)
My arm I extend across to you toward the other end, will you hold my hand?
My heart writes songs for you, are you going to attend?
My eyes speak to you, do you comprehend?
Forgive me, I did not intend...
To my wounds I shall tend.
You were a dream, but I was one who could not apprehend.
It May Be
Callous To Just
Casually Say:
But There's Relief,
Whether You
Make It Through,
Or Not.
Either Way.
-Gray Squirrel
11-13-2025
Only
Love Can
Magically Heal
The Responsibility
To Challenge The
***
Darkness.
-Gray Squirrel
10-13-2025
I see a long winter coming
(yes, I know)
the dull gray spreads ahead of me,
there ain’t no use in running
(if I could)
from yourself you can never flee.
There’s a long winter coming
(how’d I know)
you’d take it to such an extreme,
thought that we were something,
(yes, you did)
when to ‘benefits’ we agreed.
…Oh, the lies we tell,
to fake peace with ourselves,
you were in that dark place…
but nothing did you say…
In the long winter coming
(how will I)
forget the picture I was shown
by a cop so condemning
(let me see)
just how you’d laid yourself low.
In this long winter coming
(I will ask)
why you couldn’t tell me the truth,
always said we’d end it
(if we found)
ourselves in love with someone new.
…Oh, how could it be,
a triviality,
with fire took a turn,
and how it left you burned…
O’er the long winter coming
(I will say)
I’d have left her if I had known,
if I’d learned of your feelings
(I’d take you)
as mine to see if it would grow.
Now the long winter coming
(weighs on me)
all that was lost with your dark choice,
I’m left here, undone, and
(every day)
I wish I could still hear your voice…
She says I’m so fun,
then claims that we’re done,
she says she hates me,
then wants my babies.
first she wants her man,
then says, “Go use your hand.”
She stares at my eves,
then says I’m full of lies.
The aggravation…
the resignation…
I think I’ve had enough
of her bipolar love.
Bipolar love.
She dreams of houses,
then only grouses,
wants to show me off,
then snaps, “Just get lost.”
One day she’s a dream,
and the next only screams,
How do I deal with that?
In love with only half...
The real confusion…
the sad delusions…
I think I’ve had enough,
of her bipolar love.
Bipolar love.
I want to love her,
and not be disturbed,
hope she gets well,
but half the time it’s hell.
It this allright?
Am I justified?
This is not her fault…
but drives me up the wall.
Mishmash of feelings…
it leaves me reeling…
I think I’ve had enough,
of her bipolar love.
Bipolar love.
Dreams were shattered like glass shards,
As innocent lives were pushed into the jaws of death.
Some doctors, engineers, accountants, and bards,
Extinguished were the candles of their breath.
A wife was on her way to meet her spouse,
While the daughters and sons aspired to study abroad,
Alas! Fate destroyed someone's beautiful house,
As the passengers were destined to embark on a journey to God.
Shocking news that sent waves of grief,
To all the mourners of the deceased,
A plane that crashed after its departure brief,
Time itself seemed to have ceased.
Every single drop of blood is precious
And so is every soul,
Let us tear down the wall of pride and status.
Saving humanity should be our ultimate goal.
With a hitch in my get-along
which set me wrong
my get-up-and-go
is sadly misplaced
it done got up and went
cannot be traced
it's really too tragic
my mojo is spent
I need someone who
versed in voodoo
will weave their magic
do some hoodoo
come through with the juju
who'll hand me an amulet
give me a charm
which won't go amiss
so I draw no harm
with a little gris-gris
to take up the slack
and make sure my moxie
is right back on track
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