We all walked to school without a care.
We stopped at the store with pennies to share.
Cats and dogs always ran free.
Trees were claimed by them and me.
We rode our bikes like we were all nuts.
Our hands and knees came home with cuts.
Bikes had brakes most of the time,
or slowed by sneakers covered in grime.
Any spot with grass was called a yard.
We swam in places with no lifeguard.
Snowballs were made no matter the cost.
We wore socks on our hands when gloves were lost.
We all had to fight every once in a while.
Our moms would yell but dads would smile.
Rooms were shared and sometimes beds,
smelly feet tickling their brother’s heads.
Then junior high came and we had to change.
Our hair grew long and our clothes got strange.
Many smoked cigarettes and other stuff.
There were lots of choices but enough was enough.
Childhood then ended and the troubles began.
When the problems started most of us ran.
Some now have passed; some did well,
but all fondly remembered though it was hell.
The night was black and eerily still,
sensations naught but for the chill.
The fog then quickly settles in.
It is death but for the din.
With nowhere left to run or go.
A silence welcomes from far below.
Or follow the sounds of mournful screams,
awakened to a life of no one’s dreams.
Nightmares seep with a shuttered mind.
Yet sweetly we rest when freedom we find.
Tomorrows beat within our hearts.
Open eyes see bright, new starts.
But it is sleep where we all do dwell,
our futures told of heaven and hell.
We’ll meet the many never to know.
Then in a blink it’s the end of our show.
When we wake a dimension’s gone.
Feeling flat upward we’re drawn.
We rise to heights imagined by one.
The world awaits, our day begun
Tread the paths, both waning and worn.
Use your sharpness when you’re torn.
And sleep will guide us to our core.
But time awake always one third more.
With beauty comes love.
With nature comes peace of mind.
Both come change with force.
Heaven or hell is.
It’s the instant before death.
Pre and post a guess.
Running on empty,
writing talk of walk the walk,
while crawling on full.
Steven rhymes with Heaven and Kittell rhymes with hell.
Now as a poet who likes to rhyme I know not where I’ll go in time.
But if a choice there is to be – I’ll surely go where the quill floats free.