I take to the dream like an old familiar place
which I’ve been to a thousand times; yet,
it’s been years since my last trip to the brownstones.

I see the old familiar corners of back home
where eyes were bright and youth was wild.
I remember us as longhaired maniacs.
We looked to find our way around mediocrity
and tried to promote own own rebellion,
one scar at a time.

I’ve heard this question asked before –
What can we do to save someone’s life?
I’ve heard people ask, what can we do
to get people to change their ways
or how to see things differently?

Unfortunately, the answer is nothing.
The answer is there’s nothing harder to change
than a person’s belief system.

Now, of course, this is easy to say.
Then again, words are only words,
unless you mean them.
For example, take the words, “I love you,”
or the words “You mean everything to me.” 

These words mean everything,
unless they mean nothing.
These words have the ability to heal, uplift,
build and repair the soul.
Or, they can do the opposite
and tear us apart – it all depends.

It isn’t much just to look up and see the stars.
Then again, I suppose there is a time
when we were young.
There was a time when we were free
to feel the adrenaline of a midnight hour,
which is when the night was only beginning.

You could feel it too – coming on
like a storm that can’t be stopped
and like the first rain drop
soon enough,
you knew the rage was about to pour.

It is early September on Project Earth.
Soon, the mild winds will cool
and the season will change.
The leaves that ruled the branches in trees
will eventually change color
and then they’ll take to the ground
and leave the trees empty – but,
we know this already
This is part of life. 

So much happens at once
the mind goes off in different directions
assumptions are made
and sometimes, we choose the wrong fight.
Sometimes,
we take on too much damage
We fail to heal.
We hurt and then
we return the favor

There are days from my memory,
like one in particular,
which took place in a small upstate church.
I was alone, the room was empty
and the wind outside was whistling
like a phantom in the middle of February.
It was cold as ever and I was alone as ever.
Outside, the sky was clear blue
and the sun was bright but not warm.

So much has happened since then.
Infants have become adults
and saplings have become full-grown trees.
In some cases,
the world has forgotten the existence of you.

Some people have forgotten about you
and your former skyline.
Some have never seen you;
at least, not the way you used to be.
But not me.

No, I remember.

Somewhere aside from the typical norm,
besides the same streets we’ve seen
or aside from the usual views of the Hudson
as seen down by Liberty
or the spots in SoHo, the Village,
or the uptown fads and Central Park,
or aside from the long walks along Central Park West
and a memory thereafter;
which is a time at the Conservatory Garden in Harlem,
that was visited during a class
in which I saw myself in a different light –
learning that I earned this right
to claim my share in this world
(I swear)
and be who I choose –

This idea is not mine and neither is the lesson.
However, I am sure the idea I am about to share
is something that has been handed down
for generations and has varied from person to person.

The idea of Grandma’s soup or a homemade dish
and the warmth of a meal is as old as time
and equally true, I say that food is love.