All the things. You are, or could have or still.. but your boys will be.

The past beats inside me like a second heart…time is like the emptiness of light, riding in the looping rhymes, marching to a staggering drum.  Unwholesome creases and fears are burdensome, patterned violations more like a perforated infantry, heavy with inflamed curses interlocked, laced and unbalanced between a life of chance and death. Liberty where are your Scales? scars, blind to the injustices, cures, debates, the dids and did knots  only denote a day without   a steady breath. Left with measurable hurt, writhing anguish one that changed boys into men well before their linear time. A choice caused time too delineate and age and stop dead in its tracks but failed in the cessation of a running train.   To regenerate when life capitulates, it bucks and massacres and masquerades the human condition turning it to a parade of human confetti. The thief awake on the tracks of life’s short premise. To be sure you imprinted lives, in turn they impacted yours, without your smile and cogent evidence of  life past or present would have been not only a gigantic fall, but a mistake, to have seen you live a splendiferous life present Awake with gratitude at your core.  

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