Prologue To This Poem "sharp words glaring at you up from the
page, the bitter pain begins again"
Reading what is real. Facing reality. Writing it down makes it real, makes it hurt. But I face it anyway. I mean, you have to, right?You can't go on denying what is happening. What continues to happen. Something is wrong, and has been for quite some time.
"You are a part of the problem, if you're not a part of the solution", someone once said.
I agree only halfway. Can I back my thoughts up, yes, but not now. Time, when I have it, will let me explain myself under better terms.
Life is to short, always smile.

For The Ones Who Are Gone Written May 14th, 2004
Writing can be vicious.
Words, meaningless.
Spoken substance makes me go searching for a shoulder
to lean on.
Beating in my head.
Enormous pain too much before tears well in my eyes.
This is subtlety.
Subtly, I trace my steps.
I erased memories, too many times
I wept.
Heavy, plastic lamination, holding years of
silent protest.
Wearing pictures of our loved ones,
taken from us.
I fear to not show the world reality.
To all of the people too scared to watch the news.
Happy living in ignorance, too shattered to pick up
the paper and hear the fatal news.
This lamination of my friend is for you,
for him,
for me.
A silent visual protest
of what has happened here.
I do not accept this,
agree with this, condone this,
nor do I live in fear
because of this.
I'm showing the world
I DO NOT.

Why do we have to keep killing each other?

� Copyright.Bob Young.2004.