I can still see him playing ring around the Rosie
with life. But back then when he fell
he was afraid to get up because failure
scraped his knees of confidence too many times
and he was someone I use to know
sitting on the porch alone as he stared
out into the streets where courage played.
Silence stole his laugher
and no one wanted to hear his tears
as he cried in the recognition of his own heart
just wishing someone would listen
to the whispers of his pain.
I can still see him jumping for the branches
of the Cherry tree that was planted as the monument
of his strength. Too many falls to the ground
so he stopped trying to climb to the top
because being knocked down would hurt to bad;
worse than he was already hurting.
And he was someone I use to know
as I remember Savin Street and how he was afraid
to release. He had familiarity in his watered eyes
believing he could never reach limitless skies.
He was plastered on milk cartons of self worth
as a lost child until one day he was found
by himself and learned how to believe.
I can still see because he was someone
I use to know as in his reflective stare
is visions of who I use to be.