Son and Father

24Jun08

It is hard to understand why
some lights go from green to red,
never yellow.

Short is not empty
like unborn is not shelter.
He knew the pains of war,
the joy of new mornings.
Reunions, deployments,
hot tea and anything oatmeal raisin.

Our pumpkin seed,
my smallest hero,
started and stopped without
time to slow, full speed to
never.

He watches me write,
knows he is better.
There are no words we share,
the angels and the left behind.

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