I Remember (short version)I remember your face.Your aura was of anger and disgrace.Your arm swung and the bottle broke.She'd done nothing to provoke.Your wife's blood pooled on the floorAs you left and slammed the door.You filled me, your son, forever with frightBut someday I will set things right.
Oh How I Miss Your BeautyOh how I miss your lipsBeautiful as roses, though ours never met.Oh how I miss your hairBeautiful and long, even cuter when wet.Oh how I miss your eyesBeautiful and brown, trapped me like a netOh how I miss your handsBeautiful and nimble, always fast as a jet.Oh how I miss your SoulBeautiful and strong, your heart always set.
War GamesA little boy witha big red ballWill someday soon lose it all.For war is a game, or so we like to portray,And someday this boy will want to play.He will grow up one day, leave his toys behind.He will go off to war and immediately findWar is not fun, it is chaos and death.First, a wound to his chest. Next, his final breath.
The CrowThe CrowJoseph McCollum was in his way home from the art studio in Chicago where he worked. As he drove down the road he began to smell smoke in the air. At first he dismissed it as someone burning leaves or other yard waste, but when he noticed several fire trucks, ambulances, and police cars racing down the street behind him, he knew, as anyone else would, that something had gone wrong. Unlike anyone else though, he had the powers to help.Joseph pulled the car over and shut it off. After the rescue vehicles passed he reached into his back seat a grabbed a black garbage bag that was sitting there. In the bag was the costume he wore when fighting crime or helping others. It had been passed down from fathers to sons for countless generations. He had received it ten years earlier when he turned twenty-two, five months before his father passed away. The outfit was all black. The right sleeve extended all the way down the arm and was covered in black feathers. The left sleeve stopped at