Heaven Is A Road

You ask me to define Heaven.
How can I describe something
that neither of us have seen?
But I have seen Heaven.
I've lived it.
Several times have I seen Heaven,
And I will never forget it.
Heaven is a road.
654 East,
Running through a little town in Pennsylvania,
To a destination both known and unknown.
Heaven is sitting in the back of a car,
With the windows rolled down,
On a warm summer evening,
Watching the sun set at 45 miles an hour.
Heaven is the smell of fresh pine,
Passing through a forest ,
Knowing and dreading the ending.
So soon, far too soon.
Yes,
Heaven is youth,
Drinking liquid innocence,
But those days are over.
Yes,
Heaven is summer,
Running through fields of grass at dusk,
But that time has passed.
Heaven is and can be many things,
Always unexpected,
Never forgotten,
Never occurring the same way twice.
And tonight,
As I travel on a breeze,
Heaven is a road,
Passing through Pennsylvania at sunset.

Friendship Street

There's very little that's different about it.
No matter how many years go by,
It will always remain the same.
There will always be children running down its sidewalks,
There will always be laughter,
And secretly, there will always be tears.
Friendship Street.
The times spent there,
By many,
Defies time and existence.
Running long and hard,
And then biking,
Wishing for the day to last forever,
These moments define the time.
Free and eternal,
Innocent and forgiving,
There was no weight on his shoulders, then,
Just the wind at his back.
The street is not paved,
It is brick,
It is a gate to a different time.
But while the children run outside and laugh,
While they look for birds and lost coins,
There is a dark side.
The parents fight.
"John, why don't you get off your lazy ass and get a job?"
"Because I'm TIRED, damn it!"
"Well, if you hadn't stayed out so late last night,
getting drunk with your IDIOT friends,
That wouldn't have happened, now would it?"
"GOD DAMN IT!! Just shut up!
SHUT THE HELL UP!"
But she doesn't.
And they argue,
And he hits her.
But he does get up.
He gets up to go to the fridge and pull out a beer.
But his son,
His 8 year old son doesn't notice.
He's outside, playing hide and go seek,
He's still having the time of his life,
Here on Friendship Street.
Then one day,
When it's raining,
He stays inside and watches his father.
He watches his father beat his mother to a pulp.
He doesn't do a thing about it, though.
He is, after all, just a kid.
Then his father turns on him.
First a few words,
Then a spanking,
Then a slap.
Then a punch,
And soon, blood flows.
And she defends him.
His GOD DAMNED mother defends his father,
And she is punched,
And soon,
Friendship Street isn't a place to go out of boredom,
It is an escape.
His friends ask what happened,
And then his teachers,
And all he can do is lie,
Lie and dread the coming winter,
When Friendship Street won't take him.
Then, one day,
At the tender age of 10,
He spills orange juice on his fathers bed.
And he wakes up in a different bed.
A hospital bed.
"Oh, son, I'm so sorry..." his father starts.
But he can't forgive him,
He could never again forgive him.
Time goes on,
And finally, the divorce papers are signed,
And he continues to grow older.
One day,
He realizes that he is no longer the 10 year old child,
But he is the 17 year old going to visit his dad,
His dad who is dying of cancer.
Well, you deserved it, you bastard.
You motherfucking bastard.
It is the first time that he had seen his father since he was 11.
Six years, and his father is so small...
His eyes are sunken in,
His lips are cracked,
He has gone blind.
"Son, is it you? Is it really you?"
Now the tide has turned.
Now his FATHER was the one in the hospital bed.
"Yeah dad. It's me."
Then they talk.
His father calls them the good ol' days.
The days of Friendship Street.
Sure, he drank back then,
But now, he seemed to LIVE in the bottle.
And then, half an hour later,
He asks the question:
"Please, can you please forgive me, son?"
And silence.
"Son? Are you still there?"
Silence.
"Dad...dad, I-I forgive you."
And he leaves his father in that room,
On that bed,
Forever.
He left with a silent question, though.
Do I really mean it?
Still more time flies.
From 17 to 32,
And he still doesn't know.
And all that is left of Friendship Street is a memory.
He left the day of graduation,
And he promised himself that he would never return.
And he didn't, not for the 10 year reunion,
Not for the passing of his grandmother,
Nothing.
15 years,
And then, he wakes up one morning,
And he feels something.
He buys a ticket,
And he flies back.
He walks down Friendship Street again,
For the first time in so many years...
And he sees running children,
Laughing, playing street football,
And he sees their parents on their porches,
And he realizes: only one thing has changed.
Now, he is an outsider looking in.
The street was still brick,
The houses still stood,
The only difference was the children.
Sure, the TOWN had changed.
New buildings,
New businesses,
But good ol' Friendship Street remained.
He walked up to his old house.
His mother no longer lived there,
She left when he did.
He knocks on the door,
And an old man answers.
Are you my father? he thinks.
No, your father is dead.
He says his hellos, and asks the old man:
"Do you mind if I come in?
You see, I used to live here,
And it's been 15 years,
And I want to see how things look.
So...do you mind?"
The old man, his name is Frank Speller,
Frank opens the door.
He walks in, and goes straight up stairs,
And he sees his old room.
"Look," he said,
"You can still see the blood stain on the wall.
Mom must have spent HOURS trying to wash it out,
But there it is.
That happened when my Dad put me in the hospital,
In case you're wondering, Mr. Speller.
And look over here...
My initials are right here,
Carved in the doorway.
When my dad saw that one,
I swear to God, he nearly broke my hand.
And look..."
But he can't finish.
He falls to his knees,
And he feels like crying,
But he can't...his father beat all his tears out of him years ago...
Does he forgive his father?
How can he?
His father did the most perverse thing possible...
He beat his son's innocence right out of him,
Ruining the happiest days of his life,
Ruining Friendship Street.
There's blood in the gutters of Friendship Street,
Blood that will never be washed away.
He gets up.
"Look...I-I appreciate this, but I have to go..."
And before Frank can say a word,
He flies down the stairs and out of the house,
Away from Friendship Street...
Away from the innocence,
Away from the blood that has been spilled.
No, nothing has changed,
Except now, he is on the outside looking in.
He runs from Friendship Street,
But then, he stops,
And he turns.
The sun begins to set,
And the children are called in...
They don't want to go.
Some because they are having fun,
Others because they know what lurks inside.
No, nothing has changed,
And nothing ever will.

The Boy

Every day, he saw the same thing.
He would get up,
And take a shower,
And he'd look in the mirror...
And The Boy would be behind him.
So he'd spin around and look,
But there would be nothing there.
So he'd change for work,
And go downstairs,
And he'd hail a cab.
And as he was driven to work,
He catch something out of the corner of his eye
(theboytheboytheboytheboytheboytheboy)
And he'd look, and nothing would be there.
He'd be dropped off at his workplace,
And he'd go up the elevator,
And he could swear that he heard laughter...
A child's laughter...
And he'd enter his office.
As he walked past the rows of desks,
They would all look at him.
He wanted to scream
"What? What could I have done? Just tell me!"
But he wouldn't.
And he would enter his inner office,
And he'd turn around to face the desks,
And as he began to close the door,
He could swear that he could see him,
The Boy standing in the isle.
And he would sit down,
And he would do his job.
During lunch,
He would look out the window,
And he would see Him on the roof of the building across the street.
Wearing his red jacket with a hood,
His backpack slung over his right shoulder,
Faded blue jeans with a tear.
And then he would blink,
And The Boy would be gone.
Then he would finish work for the day,
And he would head over to the church on Baker Street,
And he would go inside...
And he would sit down.
And when they came to him,
He would stand up and say,
"My name is Jack, and I'm an alcoholic."
Then he would go home,
Via taxi of course,
And he would enter his apartment,
And he would lay down,
Take some pills,
And go to sleep.
And he would dream of The Boy.
He would dream about the night:
He was driving down 4th Avenue,
He had just left the party.
He only had a few drinks of vodka that night,
Just a few. Not as many as usual.
And suddenly,
There was a flash of red,
And a large, echoing, sickening THUMP!
He stopped the car.
He got out,
Ran back over 100 yards,
To The Body
(it had been a Boy only a few seconds ago)
And there was blood everywhere.
The Boy was dead...
But in his dream,
The boy would always whisper the word
"Why?"
But Jack didn't know.
Jack would never know.

The Day

Now that you're gone,
Let me tell you some things.
All the things I had to say to you
That have been left unsaid.
You were my first true friend,
You are my hero.
This day comes every year,
Its actions are felt in every home,
The day the children leave
For a new life in a new place.
I have faced this day for my first time,
And I am shocked to realize
How much it hurts,
How easily the tears want to flow.
We who are left behind are faced with wishes,
Wishes that will never come true,
Wishes for a different yesterday,
Wishes for another chance.
I wish we had remained best friends,
I wish you would be a little closer,
I wish I could have said what I felt
When we spoke.
You are a brother to me,
And your leaving has woken me,
Exposed me to the harsh realities,
Because soon, my time will come.
I almost cried, but I didn't,
I wish I had,
I wish I could,
Because you deserve the tears.
You are a friend to me.
A brother.
I will never forget you or this day,
I will never forget our past.

A Song of Innocence

Open your eyes and your heart,
And open your mind.
Innocence.
An eternal summer,
A warm summer breeze,
A laugh lost in the wind.
Innocence is a hug late at night,
A shine glowing from the soul.
Imagine a sun set,
Children running and laughing,
Love blooming for the first time,
A time before puberty takes hold.
Innocence is playing.
Innocence is a time before discrimination
Full of trust and hope,
Before you know that you shouldn't play with certain people.
Innocence is being friends with EVERYONE,
Not just with the "coolest" people.
Innocence is also tragic.
It ends too soon,
Leaving behind ignorance,
But it is also tragic because so many of the eternal moments
Are forgotten.
Nothing is left now of innocence
But a sparkle of a memory,
A glimmer in the back of the mind,
A laugh lost in the wind.
I would trade anything for my innocence,
I miss it.
I recognize it for what it was,
And what it is.
Innocence is freedom.
And tho it would seem that I can never return to the days of the past,
I know that perhaps one day,
I will once again return,
Through the eyes of my children.

The Kiss

The footfalls echo,
Down the alley.
It is dark,
Damp,
But the stars are out.
The moon.
They hold hands,
Smiling,
Laughing,
Knowing.
Finally,
After a short eternity,
They reach her door,
And she looks at him with eyes,
Eyes of the deepest blue.
Her lips part ever so slightly,
And they lean forward,
Closer...closer,
And they kiss.
A star shoots,
Lightning strikes,
There is a spark,
Between them,
And the world is right.
All the world is right.

Images

The wind is blowing,
Like an afterthought.
The grass is long,
Almost golden,
Swaying gently in the breeze.
There is nothing to disturb this peace,
Nothing but the laughter of children.
They run hard,
With ease,
Ignoring all obstacles,
Feeling for the first time,
A touch of love and longing.
Ten years from now,
They will look back to this time,
And they will remember the breeze.
They will remember the laughter,
The joy...
Newfound love.
And they will smile.
The children sprint across the field,
Towards a sunset that they will never catch,
Towards a future they do not expect,
Towards an ending,
That occurs as if it is an afterthought.

The Sky Was Blue

The sky was blue,
Like her eyes.
How many sunsets have we seen,
Through the years,
Through our life?
How many will you remember?
There are three sunsets that I will remember forever.
The first was so long ago...
It's hard to believe that so much time has flown.
Four years have passed,
All in a blink of an eye.
It was golden, and red,
As all sunsets are,
And I almost cried,
Because I had lived 14 years of my life
without noticing the beauty of a sunset.
The second was the most powerful,
And will always be the most powerful.
I could live my life,
Seeking nothing but another sunset as beautiful as that one.
They say that winter brings many things.
Cold, perhaps depression,
And a lack of sunsets.
The sunset was in winter.
The sky was a mixture,
A mixture of red and orange,
Reflecting off the clouds,
And the clouds carried the image...
Onward, unending.
I will always live just to see another sunset that beautiful.
The third great sunset was golden.
Everything was gold,
The sky,
The trees,
The air...
Everything.
I have seen many sunsets,
But I will only remember a few.
But the sky,
The sky is where our dreams are.
How many times have you lied on the ground during summer,
And just reached your hand out into the air?
Reaching for the clouds,
Rolling forever in the endless sea of blue.
And at night,
When the stars shine their brightest,
How many times have you reached for the stars?
Have you ever felt that feeling?
The feeling that if you just reached a little higher,
A little further out,
You could grab a star?
The sky is blue in summer,
Blue like her eyes.
Do you remember that look?
The first time you fell in love,
The first time that you saw the look in your lover's eyes?
I cannot tell you what that look is like,
Because I've never seen it.
At least, not directed towards me.
But I've felt it,
And I know the power that love can create.
I've felt the power of love in my stomach,
And in my heart.
I've never shared it, though.
Sometimes, I think I never will.
The future, though,
Is dark.
I do not know if I will die tomorrow,
Or if I will live to be an old man.
But I do know that I will one day look back to now,
And, as I've said before someplace,
I'll see myself as I was,
And I'll say to myself,
"What a fool you are, what a fool you'll become."
But I know that while I feel empty sometimes,
I am still happy.
I am proud of who I am,
I am proud of what I have become.
But I am still disappointed,
Because at the heart of it all,
At the place where things matter the most,
I am still empty.
I can still hear the words in my mind,
"One day, someone will find you, and she'll be very lucky."
I think I replied by saying
"Please don't say that...."
I wonder what I could do different,
I wonder what changes I could make.
If you had a single wish,
What would you want?
Wealth?
Power?
I wouldn't want either of those,
But I am still torn.
I have two wishes...
These two wishes are made every night.
I wish that everyone was happy,
And I wish that _I_ was happy.
And if I could only make one wish...
It would be one of those two...
But I don't know which one.
One day,
The winds will blow,
And I'll find myself being carried to a place.
A place that I've seen before,
In my dreams.
The place will be a hillside,
And it will be green.
The temperature will be perfect,
And there will be laughing,
And smiling,
And the sky will be blue,
Just like her eyes.