There’s a man sitting on a bench
At the corner. The bus has passed
Again and again yet he waits in silence.
A boy points at the man and asks his mother:
“Why does he wait there?
Did he not see the bus go by?”
“Son. He doesn’t know where
He wants to go. No clue why.”
The man went to war for a few years.
He fought hard for his life and his friends,
But dreams of seeing his daughter and wife carried him.
Every day apart hurts
And letters only help so much.
A robbery gone violent with one casualty.
The mother mourned and the father knew not.
Every day he held onto the locket
His daughter gave him. The lock is faulty.
The day came when an IED blew his world up
But it wasn’t in the Middle East.
An empty home is a true beast
But it only got worse. On the floor is a cup.
His daughter’s favorite. The cup is shattered
And a folded piece of paper lays upon it.
He cuts his finger on the edge
But the words put him down inside.
The letter told him everything.
Oh how the angels should sing,
He reels backwards to the sting.
This is the fall of a king.
His baby will never come back.
Regret washes over his face
As he falls to the ground in tears.
The phone rings and rings and rings
To a message on repeat:
“This breaks my heart
But times have changed. Broken wings.”
He sits at the corner waiting for his little girl
But he know the truth. . .she isn’t running late.
Protect what you love, cherish what you have,
And remember what you’ve lost.
Vasha'Lakar 