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GoodbyeI wish I could go back in time,
Back to the day you said goodbye,
Because I can't shake the notion
That something wasn't right,
Maybe it was the look in your eye
When you told me that we would be fine,
I saw the flicker of regret, I swear,
Or is it just my overactive mind?
I wished we didn't have to part ways,
But you said there would be better days,
Did you just say that to comfort me?
Did you lie to me that time again?
I wish it hadn't ended here,
I didn't want you to disappear,
But you said it had to be done,
Precisely the words I feared,
And now I see you're gone for good
And I don't know if I should
Forget you and say goodbye,
Or wait to see if you return.
YouI want to know.
I want to see the things you think
Every time you close your eyes,
To know what lies behind the facade,
Behind the little white lies
I want to feel.
The sting of pain you endure
Every time you're slighted and ignored,
When all your friends
Don't want you anymore.
I want to be.
To take your place for one day
Trying on your shoes
And walk your path as far as I can
Until I can't even stand anymore.
I want to understand.
What it's like
The Family Has Been InformedBullets that are too far away to hear back home
But words that will forever ring just as loud in my ears
Delivered from the lips of a uniformed man
The sympathetic sentence any mother fears to hear
I turn away as if ignoring his presence
Will make this unwanted reality go away
But he repeats that he is sorry for my loss
Those words are the last thing I remember of that day
I find myself looking out of the back yard window
On the swings in the garden I still see my boy play
I am bringing drinks out to him and his brothers
Under the sun, on the grass, on endless summer days
Those memories like photographs in frames on the wall
Now show my son with a wife and child of his own
A husband and father torn from their loving arms
In to the mass grave-in-waiting of a war zone
His old bedroom was already a shrine to him
Even before his blood soaked deep in to the desert sands
We waited for him to return from his first tour
Knowing the boy we’d said goodbye to would come home a man
Bo.When Lindsay was born, Bo was there. Standing beside her mother, he was the first thing she ever saw. But he was not her father; her father stood on the other side.
Bo was there until the very moment she died.
The sun shone bright through the windows of her pink-laden room. She loved pink. And black.
“Because Bo is black,” she’d told her parents.
Her imaginary friend, they soon concluded.
“Bo is all black,” she described one night as her father tucked her in, “His skin and his hair and everything. He doesn’t talk a lot.”
Her father frowned.
“He sounds scary.”
“He’s not,” she insisted.
Bo sat on the bed and said nothing.
Her father kissed her good night and turned out the light.
“Why can’t Dad see you?” she asked.
“Are you real?”
“Are you real?” he replied.
“How do you know?”
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