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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