PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I wake up just shut off the alarm at five-thirty.  Awake again at six-fifteen.  With my wife, pulling into her work by seven.

Art work.  Coffee.  Cereal.  More coffee.  A cigarette, but I don't smoke any more.  More art work.

Music.  Lunch.  Video games.  Art work.

I have found my way, but news from home has caused me to drift.

PTSD is on edge.  Anxiety like a lightning storm.

I come to terms with the news.  My grandpa, good and bad, requested to see me.

My wife takes me, a long drive.

Always remember him being tough.  Meaty build.  Clean shaven.  Crew cut.

I was not ready to walk into his home, and find a fragile elder.  Long scruffy goatee and wind wild puffy hair.

So much change in the six months since I seen him last.

I have tears.  We may not have agreed often,  but few times we did are memories is cherish.

The handing of the torch.  Handing of the carving knife.

Now each day, I wait for my cousin to call me home.

Everyday has not been the same.  My heart is heavy.

My wife keeps me going.  She is my light and reason.  My heart's pulse, my life's beauty, my spirit's strength. She keeps me here in the now.

No matter the rawness, she keeps me in check.  She keeps me going.

She holds me as I weep unchained tears...