People (book version)

I see their lives laid out in a straight line; there are beginnings and ends, midpoints and trails off the beaten path.

Plot holes, and misguided steps into deep trenches,

Laughter, cries, and hollowed out hearts where some love of theirs left them for something else,

someone else.

Battle scars, tears in their favorite tee shirts, or the lack thereof.

Some of them climbing out of baths, stretching their arms to the furthest distance to their towel,

Some running around, splashing through mud, sometimes for fun, other times because they have to.

Some unclothed, no shoes, unclean hair, hands and feet.

Some with mothers and fathers, either, or neither by choice or circumstance.

Some blowing kisses, spitting curses; or

complete silence.

Some lending a hand to their fellow man, or pushing him back into the dirt he came from.

Some in quiet corners, some in busy neighborhoods; some escaping the landlocked atrocities to be with their god in perfect matrimony.

Some too young to know about the world around them, some old enough that the world is so commonplace, last year’s trend.

Some in the arms of someone they belong to, others

holding onto themselves; that’s the only home they've ever known.

Some going to heaven, hell or in between.

Some stuck here on earth in wavering and invisible appearances.

Some haunting everyday objects, some disguised as the wind in trees,

some whispering in my ear, telling me secrets-

how the world was formed, is there life after death, should i invest in Kodak-

sometimes there is only humming i hear,
and the tune is more than just familiar.

Sometimes when I close my eyes, their faces project onto the inner eyelids.
Smiles on their lips as they are simply just there.
Their stares are heartening, saddening, maddening.
I wish I could close my eyes and see darkness, not these misty projections.
Close my eyes and imagine they were still with me.
Talk back to them, explain how I feel, bring them back to the here and now.
Take them off of their clouds, out of their fiery pits, or limbo waiting rooms.
I wish I knew if they could really see me- small, in an empty room.
I wish they knew that I thought of them often, taking each
and every passing as if they were stab wounds
into my heart, chest, and flesh.

I wish I could deliver them back to the ones that loved them,
sitting in old wooden chairs remembering a time when life was good.

I wish i didn’t feel the sting of heartbreak as if I knew them so tenderheartedly:

I do not know you;
I have never met you;

I love you