Whatever you can do is enough. Whatever you've gone through is enough. Wherever you came from, the fact you are here is enough. Wherever you are going is as good as any. Anywhere you are going is a good place to reach. It doesn't have to make sense to anyone else nor do you have to explain anything. The fact you are here is enough, because you don't have to be and that makes living worth enduring the pain of it all. Waking up each day and choosing to keep going takes more strength than any story or legend or myth could conjure. Nobody can ever tell you that they know best for you better than you.Read More
And we look up towards the heavenly hellish night sky. We reach up. We reach out. We grasp for one last touch to hold. One last glimpse to cherish perpetually immortalized in our hearts. Burned into our retinas. Etched onto our chests. Frozen in time as a ghost of a time past. A ghost of where we stood last. A ghost in Pompeii.Read More
When a writer pens a love letter,
those words will never grace his lips to another,
or fall on ears more deaf than yours.
When a writer writes about you,
he writes about all that was,
he writes about all that could be,
he writes about all that is,
he writes about all that will never be again.
What will you tell your children, your grandchildren, your great-grandchildren in 50 years? Will you tell them it wasn't your place, your responsibility, your place to stand up and say something?
Will you read them the memoirs of Holocaust survivors? The memoirs of Holocaust victims that never made it out?
Will you tell them the stories and read the memoirs of your grandparents and great-grandparents that stormed the beaches of Normandy and Iwo Jima, that fought across the Rhine, and that drove through the deserts of North Africa facing unending torrents of machine gun fire to fight beat the fascist war machines back to Italy, to Germany, to Japan?
What will you tell the people?
Charlottesville is waiting.
America is waiting.
The world is waiting.
What say you now?Read More
I find myself lost in the big big world
Reaching for hands and desperate for straws
Beneath the cries for help
Stands a man sinking in the sand
I know where he's been
Know what he's done