Hayden

Hayden meticulously shaves his blisters once they callous
and keeps them in a bell jar that he dug 
in another jar he keeps the prizes 
Civil War bullets, badges and buttons
observing at all angles until falling asleep well past midnight
he watches the skies and remembers each star's place at 10:00 o'clock
and compares them by month
listens for voices in the white noise of his pocket radio
his face a stoic sculpture 
hours on end in his hoodie and ear buds 
on the hill that oversees Chalmers Lake

Hayden will eat quickly of necessity and return to his rituals
silent 
he will watch the disturbances along the water
every firefly, every fish that glances the surface
no voice, no smile, no connection to us
yet deep behind the eyes, the stares, the static energy
there is something magnificent taking place
something we will never be allowed to see or feel
something beautiful

Deckard

I began writing poetry when I was a teenager and it truly saved me from a destructive path. 'Time Heals' will be on my grave stone'. I have 3 incredible kids who are the greatest gifts that God has given me. If I have advice to give to aspiring...

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