Rested on the center of the bed

My childhood best friend 

No, he didn't have a beating heart

But he was there from the start 

I called him Butterscotch

Warm eyes, soft fur, pink nose

With a white little tail

He accompanied my cheers

And caught all my tears 

Butterscotch  trailed behind me as I drug him through the halls 

He even shared a spot at the table 

Safe and sound we were together 

Never left my side 

Little me took pride 

Now that old ragged stuffed bunny 

Seventeen years later stays rested on the center of the bed 

Warm eyes grew loose, soft fur matted, pink nose changed in color 

With a stringy little white tail

Butterscotch may now be frail, but he has never failed

The Blinding white of the room -

Like an eerie calling from Beyond -

The ghost of many Battlefields lay at my eyes

Six eyes glued to me - shifting anxiously between Another

The silent flapping of the Curtain - keeping me exiled in this well trekked war

Beeping - footsteps - and whispers Drowned out by one noise -

A Ticking - loud and colorful drowned out all other

On the Wall laid a Clock - the only decoration on the Wall

It stared with its lack of Eyes - eagerly Counting aloud -

Ticking down the time till it took from Me -

Dragged to Reality - the clock still ticked as I was brought to Death’s Door -

Even brighter lights Blinded my eyes - shone as bright as a Porch light

I lay in my coffin unaware - my light counted down by men in white

The Ticking resumed as the light was snuffed out - blindness overtook me -

In the darkness of my tomb - came a simple Knock

The room of Glass left to be Forgotten

The Once room filled with light - 

Now Barren with a faint Glimmer

Outside the halls ring as they hear - 

The hall echos with footsteps - 

The prince Walks to the Front-

The Main glass glances at him with hatred

The prince stills walks while - 

His glass Stand there silently

the small glass watches him leave -

The older glass looks away with loneliness

As he gets closer the other glasses  

look at him with disdain

The door opens as the last glass watches with Regret-

he walks Past as the glass Shatters and the door Closed-

Visit the monuments so national

Viewed in American Pride.

Seen as symbols of freedom.

Take a fashioned gander

Stopping through the historic streets,

Imagining the many battles and decisions

Taken to decide our countries fate.

Stop by the avenue

On which the house of white stands,

And looking beyond to see the fortress

Atop capitol hill

Visit the high fashioned neighborhoods

And the low fashioned slums.

Visit the memorial of 16

And look at the monument of one

Watch as the flag

So plastered with stripes and stars

Flies high above the sky.

Symbolizing our true meaning.

Jackson Cupp

Let it consume you

Allow yourself to melt—

To become one with the very dirt you came from

Listen to your mother, hear her song

Feel as her breath blows with the trees

Forgive all that you know and release yourself

Find your solace in the moss you lay in, the water you bathe in, the light you see in, the night you dream in

Embrace the warm youth that still lives in you

At once you are at peace, feel the life in each limb of your body—thriving, reaching out—like the limbs of the trees surrounding you

Touch your skin to the Earth and inhale the rich air

Speak to me—

says the birds in the trees and the fox in the den and the bugs in the ground

Speak to me—and I will listen

The Boat around—had been covered in water—
And Nerves were being calmed
For that first trip—when triumph
Was met—on the boar—

I put my trophy—tucked away
My heart turning down
Nervous— back then i was
There laid a memory—

With silver—wide slimy texture—
Between the win—and me—
And then the the trophy slipped—and then
I could not feel to feel—

as if trying to climb back up to the tree

to escape the Ominous water.

The ends are Frayed just like the memories

of laughter and summertime love.

Cokes on the banks 

and bags of chips-

Cut-offs and bikinis 

dropping drips.

Four wheel drives 

and old Firebirds

And Eagles’ lyrics 

could usually be heard.

Inner tubes - 

the old black kind

Chicken fights 

and wasted time.

We saw him swing 

but his foot didn’t drop

And in that moment  - 

summer Stopped.

We loved that rope – 

he loved it too

of tragedy –

we had no clue.

Each time I drove that old lake road

and saw that rope still swinging

I swear I heard those tragic screams 

from Terry’s friends still ringing

That swinging rope

stirred by the wind

Would not be touched

by the hands of friends

A lonely place now 

even in July

When the kids are home 

and the sun’s in the sky.

Thirty years later

the rope’s finally gone

But the story still hangs there

on my drive home.