on the gray steps
sat a boy who had
nothing and everything
left.
opened everything,
smiled at nothing,
all he needed was a second look
at his only most important book
read those symbols as
fast as he could
swallowed them up until
his heart was tattooed
with words of love, hope, peace
and failure.
of joy desperation and
anticipation of what comes forever.
the gray was too much
he walked back inside,
all the while his eyes were on the page,
he loved every moment.
the fire was warm on his back,
while words burned:
until he was scarred
from what he learned.
his ten commandments were:
one. you shalt always dream.
two. never give up, even if
the sky is nowhere to be seen
three. the ground is pretty, and so is gray,
so are brown, apple trees, and Mondays.
four. love like you don't know what it means
except to pretend: everyday is halloween
five. say thank you and your welcome
fives time before you come back home
six. tell your friends you missed them
since the moment you left them
and nothing seems better
when you're together. of course.
seven. never grow up. my name is dill,
my occupation is child. i will.
eight. read everything, from books,
stars, and sideways heads sideways glances
giving sideway looks.
nine. remember that the smiles of yesterday
fuel those of today that eventually
make their way into tomorrow
God bless if we forget.
God bless if we fall dead.
and ten.
don't ever ever never ever be afraid
to get back up and start over again.
and when they ask if you need to a chill pill
tell them again. no, i am a child. my name is dill.
