Wednesday, October 31, 2007

Junior and Me

Written by Sylvia (This is based on a personal experience and is true.)

Junior and me, he was twenty-five, I was twenty-seven.
We met through his mother who was a friend of mine.
He stayed with me for a while and it was heaven.
After a few months had passed, he went home to stay.

I finally realized he was much too young for me.
He had a lot of growing up he needed to achieve.
We parted as friends because he agreed,
there were more wild oats he needed to sew.

One Friday night at 2:30 AM, I was asleep and content,
I heard him calling my name over and over again.
His voice was filled with agony and pain, I didn’t know what it meant,
and I was shaken to the depths of my soul by that awful sound .

Friends stayed up the rest of the night with me, I was berserk.
I dared not close my eyes for fear that I would hear his voice once more.
That next morning I called my friend at work,
she wasn't there and I really needed to talk to her.

The person who answered the phone said to me without a warning,
didn't anyone told you what happened to Junior.
He was killed in a car wreck at 2:30 this morning.
And then I knew what he was trying to tell me, he was dying.

Copyright © 2007 Sylvia A. Feeley All Rights Reserved

Tuesday, October 23, 2007

Our Oak Tree

Written by Sylvia (First Verse by Billy Rob)

Two centuries it has been there, standing proud and tall,
weathering every storm and refusing to break or fall.
When I gaze upon its beauty, it seems to talk with me,
telling me old secrets the oak has chanced to see

Through all those years, people have come and gone,
Some of them sitting beneath his branches until dawn
As couples picnic, he hears secrets they share,
Memories left behind, their initials etched with care.

Fondly he remembers a young couple, lovers from years ago
Sitting on a blanket, holding hands, all aglow
When they left, a heart was carved in his trunk
Each time he sees that heart, he remembers their spunk

That old oak tree wears his scars proudly for the world to see
Each one reminds him of how those people loved his tree
And as the years continue to pass, that old oak tree will last
Still standing proud and tall, remembering secrets of the past

Copyright © 2007 Sylvia A. Feeley All Rights Reserved