Not In The Next Few Chapters
I remember how 'old' people seemed,
When they were in their twenties.
And I was then a child...
With a wish to be a teenager.
And I remember walking on my toes,
Wanting to be taller than I was.
Or at least keep up with my father,
Whenever he walked to the neighborhood store.
And I'd walk behind him,
Thinking he was a giant.
And when I then became thirteen,
And my sister Mimmie was still eleven...
I got very bossy.
We were both 'latchkey' kids and...
Well,
I was grown...
I thought.
And I made sure she did things around our apartment,
I just was too 'grown' to do.
Like sweep the floors while I looked at TV.
She hated me.
I didn't care.
I remember being eighteen and being called a 'rainbow',
As the rest of the enlisted boy/men stood at attention...
After arriving at Lackland Air Force Base,
In San Antonio, Texas.
We were called 'rainbow'
Because we were still in our 'civilian' clothes...
And instantly demeaned.
That was their way of making sure we understood,
We were in the military and mom and daddy weren't around.
We were guaranteed to be made full fledged men.
Thirty came in a hurry.
And I had already been divorced and remarried.
And that was in 1977.
I don't know 'why' I didn't like my 40's!
Maybe because they came and went too quickly.
And I was 'still' passing for the age of twenty-five.
That didn't last too long.
In 1987 I got a phone call from my mother,
Telling me my dad was ill and she was concerned.
So as the eldest and only son,
I thought I would leave San Antonio, Texas...
Where I made my home then,
And make a quick weekend trip back to Hartford, Connecticut.
Well...
One very long weekend later,
It is now close to 2011.
My 40's and 50's were a blur.
And today at 63...
With both my parents deceased,
I am just NOW able to say,
I can enjoy every moment of my life consciously.
And feeling a whole lot younger than I look.
I know this may sound crazy, but...
I've got to relive something that I've missed,
Between my 40's and 50's I can remember...
Other than my parents passing away,
And my getting a divorce.
That was number two.
And...
With God's blessing,
I 'hope' not to do a number three.
Not in the next 'few' chapters I hope to write!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Related quotes
I Remember
Writer Dolly Parton
Copyright 1973
I remember I remember I remember mama and daddy most of all
I remember meadows and fields of golden wheat
I remember songbirds and sugar cane so sweet
I remember lots of things that often I recall
But I remember mama and daddy most of all
I remember gingerbread my mama used to bake
And I remember home made toys that daddy used to make
Yes I remember many things that often I recall
But I remember mama and daddy most of all
I remember mama and daddy most of all
And our little country home they filled with love
I remember mama and daddy most of all
And all the things they did to make life happier for us
Yes I remember lots of things that often I recall
But I remember mama and daddy most of all
I remember candy that daddy used to bring I remember songs my mama used to sing
Oh I remember many things that often I recall
But I remember mama and daddy most of all
I remember mama and daddy most of all
And how they taught us children right from wrong
I remember mama and daddy most of all
How they used to hope and pray they'd live to see us grown
Oh I remember many things that often I recall
But I remember mama and daddy most of all
I remember I remember I remember mama and daddy most of all most of all
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Remember, I Remember
I remember, I remember
The house where I was born;
The rent was thirty-two a month,
Which made my father mourn.
He said he could remember when
His father paid the rent;
And when a man's expenses did
Not take his every cent.
I remember, I remember--
My mother telling my cousin
That eggs had gone to twenty-six
Or seven cents a dozen;
And how she told my father that
She didn't like to speak
Of things like that, but Bridget now
Demanded four a week.
I remember, I remember--
And with a mirthless laugh--
My weekly board at college took
A jump to three and a half.
I bought an eighteen-dollar suit,
And father told me, "Sonny,
I'll pay the bill this time, but, Oh,
I am not made out of money!"
I remember, I remember,
When I was young and brave
And I declared, "Well, Birdie, we
Shall now begin to save."
It was a childish ignorance,
But now 'tis little joy
To know I'm farther off from wealth
Than when I was a boy.
poem by Franklin P. Adams
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When She Played It Was On Her Piano
As a kid I had ambitions.
And the first of them was to do my chores,
Before my mother would come home from work.
And she would pack them on too!
'I told you to sweep this floor.'
I did!
'With what?
A sandwich?
Do it again.'
My sister, Mimmie, would look at me.
And smile!
I couldn't wait,
To give her the spray can...
To kill the roaches!
I didn't know we weren't suppose to have them,
Until I was eight years old!
And that's not a joke.
One day when my mother went to work,
I made sure Mimmie got introduced.
She's a grandmother now.
And every once in a while...
She will mention how mean I was to her.
Nobody is going to sit,
And enjoy me getting whipped!
And that has been my philosophy...
Learned very early in my life.
Those days are long gone.
And being assigned to responsibilites,
I believe every child needs.
However...
Too many parents have raised lazy and spoiled children.
Believing one day,
They will awaken and be accountable for their actions!
Today as I reflect on my childhood,
I am glad my mother did not allow me to go to sleep...
To chance an awakening to what I knew I should do.
What I had and was going to do got done,
Before I had an opportunity to give it thought.
Procrastination,
Was not a lesson my mother taught.
I've seen parents,
Do everything possible for their children.
To wonder at a later date in time,
Why their children disrespect them.
Even 'if' I looked as if I wanted to say something back,
My mother would put a 'switch' to my behind.
AND...
I would have to fine one she liked to use on me.
That was before the calling of 911.
Today...
They would call that child abuse.
When I grew up...
We got our 'butts' tore up.
Just for looking as 'if'...
We did not enjoy getting whippings!
And I aint hardly kidding.
How does that 'old' saying go?
~Spare the rod and spoil the child.~
Well...
Mimmie and I were very spoiled.
But...
A rocking of a boat,
Did not float at all...
With Ms Edna!
When she played,
It was on her piano!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Heffa
'Don't let me chase you...
Heffa! '
My mother would say this,
Before she did my sister's hair.
And I would sit in a chair...
To watch my sister.
And she would cry and I would stare.
'What you looking at? '
My sister Mimmie would say!
I'm looking at you!
What you gonna do?
'You kids better not start nothing with me.
Hold your head still, girl!
And don't you say another word, Larry! '
I would think to myself...
'Is Mimmie a 'heffa' when she gets her hair done?
Why when I called her that...
She would chase me,
And I would run?
Then my mother would say,
'Would you kids stop that!
Both of you get on my last nerve.
Stop that fighting crap.'
Ma, what is a 'heffa'?
And why is Mimmie one?
Is it the way she looks...
When her hair is undone?
If I called her that,
She wants to fight with me.
Daddy don't call her a heffa.
Why do you...
Exclusively?
My mother would look at me,
As if I was crazed.
I could tell in her eyes,
She was trying for 'something' to say!
I never heard my mother curse.
She didn't have to back then.
But I grew to understand...
'Heffa' was a word,
Black women shared between them!
And my sister Mimmie...
Thought she needed to keep me in 'check'!
And 'if' I didn't leave her alone...
A grown man I would never become or get!
I grew up in a family of very strong willed 'heffuhs'!
Dedicated to:
Those women in my family whom I love dearly.
And I have learned what they say to each other,
And amongst themselves...
Is between them as women!
And they have provided me with 'much' wisdom!
I know now...
What is said 'endearingly' between them,
Is not for a man to repeat!
Even though they can say what they wish,
About us!
'Right, fellas'?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Remember the 13th
Our hearts were beating faster,
Yet the air getting more hotter,
I thought I wanted water,
Yet it was not the matter,
The day was worth while,
Remember the 13th
We were walking up and down,
The birds of the air witnessing,
The melodies they gave,
The swift movements they made,
I can look back at the moments,
I remember you,
I remember us,
I remember the 13th
I can see the pictures,
The cars passing by,
Your lips opening wider,
Telling me you love me,
Remember your actions,
Remember my reactions,
Remember the 13th
Forget the 10th,
That day we had lunch together,
Forget the 11th,
That day we had a long walk,
Forget the 12th,
That day was full of fun,
Remember the 13th,
That day we fell in love,
Remember June, it was cold,
Remember the 13th,
It was warm for us
poem by Sir Gaylord Munemo
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When It Hurts Enough To Cry
When it hurts enough to cry,
Like when your parents give you up, and you don't know why.
Parents just like my own,
Didn't want anything to do with me, till I was grown.
Why do some parents give up their kids,
Do they ever regret later that they did?
My parents weren't there through the teen years,
Or seeing me graduate which brought me tears.
I hardly heard I love you son,
When growing up, I can't remember having any fun.
Something my dad said has always stuck in my head,
When I was five he said he wished I was dead.
Doesn't he know my heart was torn?
I never did ask to be born.
Parents are suppose to love their kids,
And it will show later what a good job they did.
They say you can't choose your mom or dad,
Cause if I could I wouldn't be so sad.
But I always remember what Jesus said,
''Always love your mom and dad.''
poem by Roger Dodd
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I Rememer, .
I Remember, ..
I Remember, seeing cops take you away.
I Remember, it was just the 3 of us.
I Remember, going to see you.
I Remember, talking to you ALL the time.
I Remember, telling you ' I love you.'
I Remember saying, ' Daddy, i miss you.'
I Remember, when you packed your bags.
I Remember you, holding your new born child.
I Remember, when you left me.
I Remember when, i told you i hated you.
I Remember, when i met HIM.
I Remember, when HE called me HIS daughter.
I Remember, HE took your place.
I Remember when, I told HIM ' Dad, i love you.'
I Remember now, im not YOUR daughter, ..
IM HIS.
poem by Bree Chase
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As Parents To Our Parents
They never teach you this at school;
they'll try to teach you reading, writing, 'rithmetic
in their own instructed ways;
but now, if anyone suggested it, there'd be howls
about the impertinence, the interference,
the rights, the dangers of this and that -
but all the same, they never teach you:
how to get on with your parents.
Oh there are books and books and books
telling your parents how to look after you, but hey!
there are two parties here! Mom and Dad
can ask their own parents (sometimes - because they
were in the same situation as you are now and so,
reckon they can do a better job...) but
who can you, ask?
Philip Larkin told us memorably that
'they f*** you up, your Mum and Dad',
which may not be the case for all of us;
Hindus have their own stern answer to this question:
you chose them, in effect, as the result
of your behaviour in your previous life...so there,
work with that, kiddo, could be
the making of you...stop blaming it all on them!
So there you are, in this heated cauldron of love and hate, or
like sharp stones shaken in this bag called family
until the rough edges wear (each other) away and
those smooth round pebbles roll out to the world...
but perhaps a little help wouldn't hurt?
I was exactly four and a half when I told the truth about something,
since I didn't know any other way; and as my parents' voices
rose in argument about 'knowing what was best for me',
(I remember the moment now, so clear) I turned my back
on this so painful sound, faced the 'wireless' on the chest of drawers,
and decided there and then
that grown-ups made such a fuss when you told the truth
that it would be better not to - at least, until
they grew up a bit... and there, went half a lifetime
of prevarication, dodging the question, fantasy: never tell the truth
until you're sure they really, really want to hear it...
Then when I was eleven or thereabouts
(and again, I remember exactly where I was standing
at the time - the bottom of the stairs)
the solemn thought 'entered my head':
that in some way I knew but couldn't quite explain,
I was in the position, had some duty,
to take care, in some thoughtful way, of the minds of those
my parents...
But they didn't teach that at my school.
love, I knew all about; but
parents? Aren't they strange? They try so hard, too...
and no, I don 't need 'counselling', thanks -
I'd rather keep it in the family. All I'm asking
is, a few lessons, maybe? I'd even do
the homework.
XXX love you both XXX
poem by Michael Shepherd
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5. Itchy Pants
I remember my grey flannel shorts
What an itchy woollen hell
I remember they went past my knees
And didn’t fit too well
I remember being the only one
To have this unique fashion
I remember how they chafed my legs
I hated them with passion
I remember always scratching
Teachers told me stop that please
I remember how my pals all moved
They all thought I’d got fleas
I remember trying to lose them
When I changed for sport at school
I remember things went missing
But not these things you fool
I remember sliding down a hill
Till I wore the backside through
I remember feeling so relieved
For the long ones lined brand new
poem by David Threadgold (2008)
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We as parents to our parents
They never teach you this at school;
they'll try to teach you reading, writing, 'rithmetic
in their own instructed ways;
but now, if anyone suggested it, there'd be howls
about the impertinence, the interference,
the rights, the dangers of this and that -
but all the same, they never teach you:
how to get on with your parents.
Oh there are books and books and books
telling your parents how to look after you, but hey!
there are two parties here! Mom and Dad
can ask their own parents (sometimes - because they
were in the same situation as you are now and so,
reckon they can do a better job...) but
who can you, ask?
Philip Larkin told us memorably that
'they f*** you up, your Mum and Dad',
which may not be the case for all of us;
Hindus have their own stern answer to this question:
you chose them, in effect, as the result
of your behaviour in your previous life...so there,
work with that, kiddo, could be
the making of you...stop blaming it all on them!
So there you are, in this heated cauldron of love and hate, or
like sharp stones shaken in this bag called family
until the rough edges wear (each other) away and
those smooth round pebbles roll out to the world...
but perhaps a little help wouldn't hurt?
I was exactly four and a half when I told the truth about something,
since I didn't know any other way; and as my parents' voices
rose in argument about 'knowing what was best for me',
(I remember the moment now, so clear) I turned my back
on this so painful sound, faced the 'wireless' on the chest of drawers,
and decided there and then
that grown-ups made such a fuss when you told the truth
that it would be better not to - at least, until
they grew up a bit... and there, went half a lifetime
of prevarication, dodging the question, fantasy: never tell the truth
until you're sure they really, really want to hear it...
Then when I was eleven or thereabouts
(and again, I remember exactly where I was standing
at the time - the bottom of the stairs)
the solemn thought 'entered my head':
that in some way I knew but couldn't quite explain,
I was in the position, had some duty,
to take care, in some thoughtful way, of the minds of those
my parents...
But they didn't teach that at my school.
love, I knew all about; but
parents? Aren't they strange? They try so hard, too...
and no, I don 't need 'counselling', thanks -
I'd rather keep it in the family. All I'm asking
is, a few lessons, maybe? I'd even do
the homework.
XXX love you both XXX
[revisited]
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Mother’s day
It was mother’s day
and you wanted your dead mother
to be alive again,
more sincerely than anything.
You even were angry with me
for not thinking about you
on that day
of you now being motherless
when you had a mother
for most of your life
and a father too
and that there was something empty,
something missing from your life,
and her being gone
was terrible on that particular day.
That you couldn’t make her breakfast,
pick nasturtiums
from the garden for her,
or even talk to her,
on that special day
and I said that I didn’t realize that you were
missing your mom so much,
and offered my sincere sympathy
and told you that we have to appreciate
our parents
while we still have them,
that life lies only in the hand of God,
that I had grown up without a father
and that my mother was the only parent
whom I really knew
and ironically the only woman
that didn’t leave me in the lurch
which made you angrier,
so much so that you slammed
the phone down in my ear
when I called to apologize
and I wondered why
the persons that we hold dear
leave so much pain
when they are gone
and what had gotten into you?
poem by Gert Strydom
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Remember When
Remember when I was young and so were you
And time stood still and love was all we knew
You were the first, so was I
We made love and then you cried
Remember when
Remember when we vowed the vows
and walked the walk
Gave our hearts, made the start, it was hard
We lived and learned, life threw curves
There was joy, there was hurt
Remember when
Remember when old ones died and new were born
And life was changed, disassembled, rearranged
We came together, fell apart
And broke each other's hearts
Remember when
Remember when the sound of little feet
was the music
We danced to week to week
Brought back the love, we found trust
Vowed we'd never give it up
Remember when
Remember when thirty seemed so old
Now lookin' back, it's just a steppin' stone
To where we are,
where we've been
Said we'd do it all again
Remember when
Remember when we said when we turned gray
When the children grow up and move away
We won't be sad, we'll be glad
For all the life we've had
And we'll remember when
Remember when
Remember when
song performed by by Alan Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Brother Bill
This is the sad true story about my brother Bill
who was four years older than me.
He was born and then tossed aside by his mother
who left him to his father’s parents to raise,
then promptly disappeared out of his life forever.
My grandparents brought him up
hoping his father would take care of him
when he returned from the war.
His father also my dad returned from the war
married with another son and didn’t want to know.
They gave him a nickname in private
so no one else would know.
In private, they always called him Dopey.
My sister and I were told
our grandparents had adopted him
and he was nothing to do with us.
When my dad’s parents died in 1958 and 59
plans were made to come back to England
where my mother’s parents were still alive
and leave Bill far behind.
Then as his mother had done eighteen years before
his father abandoned him as well.
For a while, he had to live on the streets
taking handout from where ever he could.
He was arrested for vagrancy and sent to jail.
Getting out he got himself a job and began to build a life.
He got married and started a family,
until one night he came home
and found his wife in bed with another man,
and a divorce followed and he was alone again.
Then after 25 years, his job vanished
and he had to find another.
One day in 2000, he got a telephone call
and did not know whether to believe it or not.
It was a call he never thought he would ever get,
a call from his younger brother - me.
As we talked on the phone, some truths came to pass
his brother and his sister did not know about him.
They were told he had been adopted
and were nothing to do with them.
However, I had found the truth,
which incensed my mother enough to disown me.
We met one another for the first time
after forty-two years in 2001 and again in 2002.
In 2003, this sad story ends,
in the March of that year
Bill succumbed to a heart attack.
His final words were a testament to his life.
No one loved me enough to care.
The sad truth is someone did
and that someone was me.
We never had enough time together,
circumstances kept us apart,
but he was my brother
and will remain in my heart.
2 November 2009
Authors Note:
The facts are as Bill told them to me. A sad refrain to a wonderful guy who was tainted by my parents as being bad and no good. If the truth were known he was probably better than the both of them. He was a guy who would give you the shirt of his back if you needed it. My brother Bill, may he now rest in peace.
DVH - 2009
poem by David Harris
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All The Same
Remember when I carried that heavy load,
Remember when I fought that long battle,
Remember when the rocks fell on me,
Remember the dying moments my love,
Remember the tragedy that faced me,
Remember you never moved my love,
In the demise of your man you stood still,
Watching me sink and not giving a hand,
Remember the care and concern my love,
Remember when you were sick on bed,
When I ran to you to see you recover,
Remember when I was sick on bed my love,
When you enjoyed and slept to the fullest,
Remember when I missed you my love,
When I came all along to be with you,
Remember when you missed me my love,
When you stayed and never bothered to step,
Remember the days when nights were cold,
When I made a choice to be with you,
Remember when the day was so perfect,
When you made the choice to stay in bed,
Remember the trees that were long standing,
When you thought of cutting them for no reason
Remember the war that approached us,
When we chose to be cowards than warriors,
Remember the water that flowed,
When our hearts did flood within,
Remember the moments I shouted,
When you pretended you were not hearing,
Remember the effort I put my love,
When you never did the same,
All the same my love, I love you
poem by Gaylord Munemo
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And You Don’t Remember Me
I sat on the park bench
pen and notebook in hand.
I watched all the people
as they passed on by.
I wondered how in life
each one of them had fared
with their happiness
and their sorrows.
I looked for inspiration
for something to write.
She looked at me and smiled,
I smiled back
thinking that was that.
“You don’t remember me? ”
She said and sat down.
I looked at her again
as memories swirled
around in my mind.
She was right
I didn’t remember her
Her hair was mousey colour
with flecks of grey
starting to appear here and there.
There were thick lines
across her forehead,
crow feet lines
near the corners of her eyes.
The corners of her mouth
drooped just slightly.
Her blues eyes were striking
and I knew I had seen them before,
but they were with a younger face
a long time ago.
A face that lit up
whenever she spoke.
“You still don’t remember me? ”
She asked once again.
I shook my head,
but unfortunately, I did.
I could remember
all the beauty
she had had in her youth,
before time had ravaged her
and taken away her beauty
and her youth.
She looked so sad.
I wanted to reach out
like I always wanted to,
but something deep inside,
a little voice you could call it,
kept telling me no.
My urge to hold her
was trying to win out,
but I couldn’t do it.
She was no longer
a part of my life.
All she was now
was a memory I clung to,
a memory of my youth
so long, long ago.
With notebook and pen,
I smiled and bit her farewell.
I whispered her name
as I said a last goodbye.
I didn’t look back
or I would have looked back with regret.
She was a past,
something none of us can ever relive.
poem by David Harris
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Whipped
Is there anything that can help me let go
I’m tired of crying down this road
I’m young should I feel this old
I’m tired of being split
I’m tired of feeling whipped
I’m tired of not knowing what’s right
I’m tired of looking for this light
I’m tired of living wrong
I’m tired of crying to this repeating sad song
I’m tired of wrong feeling so right
I’m tired of fighting with all my might
I’m tired of hoping friends will be by my side
I’m tired of my feelings I hide
I’m tired of no one picking up the phone
I’m tired of being home
I’m tired of the sun
I’m tired of the moon
I’m tired of thinking what to do
I’m tired of you
All I ever think of is hope
And all I ever heard is have faith
I feel fragile like an old piece of rope
And know I did nothing but disgrace
I hoped to be a good man
I hoped to have a plan
I hoped to be the one
I hoped to have some fun
I hoped life was easer than they say
I hoped home was where I lay
I hoped I always knew right
I hoped I would always fight
I hoped me was the one you see
I hoped true love would always be
I hoped I didn’t need to rest
I hoped life meant happiness
Hope and faith are strong words
They fly away easy like birds
Does one ever know where they stand?
Its harder than I thought to be a man
I remember being young and free
I remember trying to be me
I remember when I first fell in love
I remember hearing the sound of a dove
I remember being young wishing I was old
I remember trying to live out side the mold
I remember when I would dream
I remember when it was all about me
I remember when I wanted to be where I am
I remember that meant I needed to be man
I remember when life was fun
I remember shooting out like a gun
I remember love was a rush
I remember the first time I was crushed
I remember doing and not thinking
I remember doing nothing but drinking
I remember trying to make my tears dry
I remember the feeling of telling a lie
I remember when the world was at my feet
I remember the feeling of being beat
I remember being ashamed of who I am
I remember at one time I knew where I stand
Memory is a gift or is it a curse
It showed you at your best and at your worse
Time is something that should be taken slowly
I don’t want to be old and lonely
I know not to always follow my gut
I know ill always be in this rut
I know tomorrow will come
I know yesterday is gone
I know I will run
I know I am wrong
I know ill live
I know ill die
I know not to ask why
poem by Lesten WhitePigeon
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Much That I Remember About You
I remember you
I remember the first time I saw you
Looking up and there you were, an angel on earth
It occurred when I didn’t expect it, wasn’t looking
Seeing you and thinking that you were pretty
Seeing you and wondering why, afterwards, I
Remember you more now
I remember your voice
I remember the first time I heard and it enchanted me
Dulcet tones playing hypnotic music disguised as a woman’s voice
It happened in conversation, in the harmony of all you spoke
Hearing the coy happiness in the words we shared
Hearing the smile in your tone so that I
Remember your voice now
I remember your eyes
I remember the first time I became lost in them
How it was a time when our eyes met in more than just a glance
It happened in a moment, together with you
Seeing in your eyes more than just a casual interest
Seeing in your eyes myself and us which is why I
Remember your eyes now
I remember your skin
I remember the first time I felt the touch of your skin
When your fingertips brushed mine in flirting invitation
It flashed in a moment, skin to skin
Feeling the electricity of your touch, your skin against mine
Feeling the heat passing between us as I
Remember the feel of your skin now
I remember how you made me feel
I remember the first time I admitted to myself
What I felt for you was more than just friendship
It came in a moment, talking with you
Realizing that every thought of you made me smile
Realizing that each smile made me
Remember even more how you made me feel
I remember why I fell for you
I remember this all the time now
The memory comes in thoughts, your voice, your eyes
It happens in every moment these days, loving you
Knowing that what happened between us is a good beginning
Knowing that we could be much more always helps me
Remember constantly why I fell in love with you
poem by David Terry
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Do You Remember
Do you remember
Picking up rocks and skipping them
By the people fishing
Do you remember
Having them yell at us
For scaring the fish away
Do you remember
Running as fast as we can
So they wouldn't catch us
Do you remember
How happy we were
When they didn't catch us
Do you remember
When we got home that day
And you started drinking
And got mad when the liquor ran out
Do you remember
When you stumbled outside
To get another bottle
Do you remember
The cop came to arrest you
And how you made a scene
Do you remember
Being so mad about it
That you kicked the cops window out
Do you remember
All of us watching you
As they took you away
Do you remember
When they added another charge
To your already long police record
Long Distance Daddy
I didn't make your football game last weekend
I didn't make the one the week before
I didn't see that fumble you recovered
I missed all that and I'm missing so much more
I've never seen the new house where you're living
I never met your friends or seen your school
And I ain't there to help you solve your problems
Or to help you klnow what is and isn't cool
I hope you like that new guitar I got you
I hope it's all you thought that it would be
Maybe someday we can write a song together
And maybe when you play it you'll think of me
I didn't make your football game last weekend
I won't make the one a week from now
But I want you son to know how much I love you
And I hope someday you'll understand it all somehow
poem by Mike Kosman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Walking Away
Never thought to ever think twice
Of all he had
Of all he lost
A selfish life
and guess comes with the cost
Hey, remember me
I remember you walking away
Hey, remember me
I remember you walking away
The same old streets just a different name
Same old house just the family's changed
Pickett fence
The window stains
Freedom spells by a man in chains
Silence is all we have to give
And the memories of a life I wish we'd lived
Hey, remember me
I remember you walking away
Hey, remember me
I remember you walking away
From all that you made
That you lost
or threw away
Traded in for a brand new life
But I can't
Can't let go
Can't turn around
Hold my head high and walk away
Hey, remember me
I remember you walking away
Hey, remember me
I remember you walking away
song performed by by Lifehouse
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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