Fresh start rotted and withered,
As a pecked plum from its vine,
Dreams came crashing down,
Like a tidal wave of depression and lost time,
Prayers and hope develop good faith,
And in turn blessings will come,
Bookmarked in their minds and burned,
Much work and change is to be done,
And if persevered a new era will arise,
And troubled waters will be behind the stern,
And as each turn in the river is passed,
These bad days will be atoned,
Now they've been,
with a light heart I rise today,
thinking back to times we shot,
yellow books with tech nines,
From point blank range inside my post,
the bullet would pierce about 1-1-1/2,
at most,
and me, Easy, and Ho-dog, oh and Banning,
Dug out those slugs and made us a necklace,
233 Main St. is where we kicked it back then,
and it's the same damn place that it came to an end,
I hope by now people understand what happened,
and I hope they try,
to realize we only have moments left,
in this short, crazy but beautiful life.
BP
