It’s 8:30
p.m. do you know where you heart it is?
I know
where mine is,
It’s here
at the park with my mother and brother,
As we sit
and watch the sun set.
The lights
have just come on,
And in the
distance the sun has gone to sleep,
And soon
we will too.
But not
yet,
Not yet.
There are
still wisps of sun decorating the sky like cotton candy or Kris Kringle’s beard
only orange not white or pink.
Tattered
American flags decorate the dock fluttering in the wind like my heart.
They are a
reminder of a Memorial Day gone by,
Gone, but
not forgotten.
Two planes
fly in the distance in opposite directions,
And though
I hear them I really can’t tell what sound is which plane,
The sky
grows in orange brilliance, and puts the LED lights to shame.
Sailboats
and motorboats bob and bob,
And I try
to ignore the mosquitoes as long as I can.
It was so
hot today more like August than June.
I hid
inside to escape and fell asleep by the air conditioner, and felt more like a
bear than a man.
But here
at the dock tonight no AC is needed at all,
Only a
gentle breeze.
We are
witnesses to God’s paintbrush,
And even
the beautiful Asian women that walk past me like Gatsby’s green lights are
forgotten for a while.
For beauty
nature has no rival,
For it’s
sunsets there is no compare,
They are
truly a marvel,
Steppingstone
Park please wait for us,
How we all
long to visit you and stare.
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