This was on my heart for far too long... In refference to far too many dear friends...

A Letter for the Princes or the Pauper –By William Robert Stoy, IV

My child, my child
A Father should never have to bare a broken heart for his beloved daughter
When will you refuse to be the “other” girl?
I watch with unrelenting eyes of sorrow
Searching for the hope I hold for you
I watched you let it go
It almost broke my spirit too.

Now as I look into your longing
I see a fire fading from your eye
A desire lost in doubt, to darkness
Like a lamp with the light all out

I will never lose you
Though I have to let you go.

Know that I will always love you, even when he won’t.

When will you know your worth, when will you wait to receive what you deserve?
Too young to be a bride, your prince will come in time
You are a Daughter of the Kingdom
Baring the blood of royalty, what will you choose to be
A Princess or a pauper?

Signed,
The Unrelenting Lover

This is a poetic response to Richie's Poem "Pencil and paper cant quite express the truth" Read that first... http://ragingsicilian.blogspot.com/ ...

A Letter from the Forgetting Friend- By William Robert Stoy, IV

Hell, Oh, Dear Friend
Is where I’m afraid that I may find you
Now that I’ve returned.
They say it’s simply

Separation.

And I believe them.
Though I believe the times have changed, as colors turn
From Red to Grays
Which leaves me falling from the trees
Into a certain season’s grave,
Uncomfortable at best
And seemingly
Unchanging

What difference does it make? I don’t
Remember

Though in a season, seeming grave
A certain seed may simply brake
And be replaced by roots
A new creation
Growing is a process, much like
Faith.

We must have Faith in Friendship.

Finding a fresh foundation, a seed
Can grow into the tree that it was always meant to be
Branches Born Again, as Arms Again
Embracing
Reaching for each other in forgiveness
“Pulling one another into the steps that only the closest of friends may dance”

Dear Friend, let us raise our glass
And toast to time well spent together

May I conclude with congratulations of camaraderie?
As we drink, let the taste of laughter and love
Wash away all that was bitter and lonely
And know that you will never be forgotten.

Signed,

Your Brother in Arms

Please people, read it out loud, read it slow, let it sink in, read it again... Comment.

He died again today –By William Robert Stoy, IV

His name on lips of sorrow,
Said to me,
I, II, and III have passed away
Three, so close to me
Should Four now fear?
I don’t hold life as dear as those who dread their days of end
A comfort close at hand
Holds hope, and I am grateful for the days I have

Though I know now, I’ll never have to hear “he died” again

If only I could live a life so full
As the first, now leaving me
The last of my kind

His funeral a peaceful sight
Death, all too familiar
I guess that’s why I’m not afraid to die
After all, death is no stranger
And certainly no stronger than life
And even shorter
One simply leading to the other
I know they spend their days together now
This brings a smile
A laugh, genuine
Looking around at loved ones left behind
There is no suspected sorrow in the surrender
They have learned to let go
One specific face, sullen
Uneasy, anxious, avoiding
He has not yet learned, though
He takes his time to say goodbye
Wipes his eyes, “Ugh, something in my eye, allergies maybe”.
Clearly in denial
I accept it every time, so easily
I’m not sure why.
I fall in line, the last, ironic
It is now time
To approach in adoration
I step towards the elegant case, funny
We were just joking about how ridiculous,
How elaborate, those boxes we stick ourselves in
Forever
Drop ‘em in the dirt
Cover over
Ourselves, and everything
We’ve done, hopefully
cover over closure
He’s laying so still, so peaceful
A body with the life all out
Like a porcelain doll my grandma made
Man I hope I die as happy as this man
A lovely life long lived
His brow, creased with many thoughts now ceased
His closed eyes, forever holding images of beautiful and terrible things
(Like a treasure chest of paintings)
His lips, content and maybe even smiling
His hair, balding, but there, I cant help but think of mine 'n laugh
His fingers, folded, worn like a man’s hands should be
His skin, simply the surface of an empty container, I remember, wrinkled and old and ready to be buried
“Let me go”, I hear him whispering
“Heh, I know old man, tell them I said hey, and I’ll see you on the flipside”
That is what I say, golly,
It’s easy letting go