I’ll bring you to the place we disappeared
again before the dawn begins to bleed
the memories of memories we feared
would take us to a time where we concede
concessions like the streaks of heated clouds
at twilight in the early summer’s heat
which over-shadows rushing cars and crowds
and underlies the grass beneath our feet.
The world is solid, built with concrete lies
between the roads that lead to other roads.
Suburbia contains the stifled cries
of dawn as morning silently explodes.
And this is where our memories are kept
within the walls where silently we’ve wept.
“This is the last sonnet I composed before my accident on 4/29/2010. You may notice a difference in my poetry after this date, due to the Traumatic Brain Injury I suffered.”