Writer trapped in the daily grind of an IT Pro, parent to two boys, who seem to grow daily both physically and mentally. www.bydavepark.com
In the dark chilly cold of the evening
I think about the morning that was oh so long ago
A thousand twisted maybes, wrapped up in the convoluted conjecture of a hundred thousand more.
There is a calmness after the snow
And my thoughts are struck with stark white clarity
Tonight you are gone… which is not that different than any other night.
I come to you, upon the cusp out doubt.
A dog shit pile of anxiety.