The

Poetry

Usually, it begins with a preacher's hello, a sinner's goodbye, and leaves the middle something for God to manage. It always starts with forget, or usually anyhow, then deteriorates toward the unknown. But that's okay, because I still remember, and what do you see when you close your eyes?

A summer night curious stars that stare through the dark the warmth, like a mother's touch, you lay dreaming on a blanket of sand. Not 9-5 weekends off sit-coms in the evening wake up and do it again tomorrow. The dreams you see, when you close your eyes, Yes, I remember, though I have forgotten where they began.

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