
I am no one.
I am nothing.
No one sees me.
No one cares.
I am alone.
I am lost.
I am human.
I am no one.
I am nothing.
No one sees me.
No one cares.
I am alone.
I am lost.
I am human.
THE WOUNDED
A blue sky can bring me to cheer.
Come inside, I am waiting here.
You can soften the load
of troubles, I am told.
Please brighten the cold, dreary day.
Take me to places far away.
Heal my wounded pride.
I need your fire at my side.
Yesterday, I met a famous photographer, Tony Vaccaro, who had photographed my brother in 1981. It was a year before my brother’s car accident. After two years in a coma, Neil passed. I’m more determined than ever to write a book on my brother’s life. Tony took photos of Presidents Kennedy, Obama, and Nixon. Famous stars like Sophia Lauren. Artists like Picasso and Georgia O’Keefe. And my brother, Neil Leist. Neil had just become the CEO and President of American Bakeries. He made his fortune in the commodities markets and was on his way to the top. The accident ended his dreams and mine.
This isn’t the photo taken by Tony Vaccaro. This photograph is the last one I have of my brother.
I reach for you.
I can’t touch you.
You are gone.
I must accept this.
There’s no coming back.
No second chances.
CRY IF YOU WANT TO
In the dark of night
when others sleep,
I sit in the woods
and count my sheep.
My heart hangs heavy
as I think of you.
I refuse to cry
if I dream of you.
They have told me
to allow my tears to fall.
I shut my eyes
and fall asleep in a ball.
The wind whistles through the trees.
I open my eyes to a sight.
You sit on the grass facing me,
your eyes shining in the dim light.
“Cry if you want to,”
you whisper.
“But I don’t want to,”
I whisper.
The dawn lights the dark sky.
I yawn and stretch my limbs.
My eyes are bright and dry
since I’ve refused to cry.
Source:sj0
As I fade away,
I think of days gone by.
As I crumble to sand,
I remember the past.
As I shrivel to nothing,
I regret what I’ve done.
But most of all,
I regret what I haven’t.
Sadness follows me
wherever I go.
It haunts me
in all its forms.
There’s no escape
from its long arms.
I close my eyes
but feel its long shadow.
Read me a tale, grandfather,
of battles and dead bodies.
Turn the pages, grandfather,
of the book of horrors.
Tell me more stories, grandfather,
of evil armies and sadness.
I will close my eyes, grandfather,
and wish the darkness away.