a name is but a face

people have labels;
we call them names.

your name defines you.

it does not define how you live,
but how you hve chosen to live.

these names can be sorted,
pasted onto people for hope that some of what's behind that name
will shine through the next person who wears it.

people will hear that name,
read that label,
and expect something from it.

if they've heard it before,
they expect to see it reincarnated.

if it's new to them,
they watch it,
wait and see if it's one worth remembering.

these labels help people keep order within themselves.

they help us differentiate one man from another,
give us something to start a story with.

over time these labels will start to curl at the edges,
they'll be crossed out and rewritten as the story is too.

these names will become known,
maybe to one,
maybe to many.

those listeners will take those labels
carry them with  with them as they try and make like those names.

those names don't always know how much they've been spoken
how many times they've brushed across a person's lips
but we know.

those who have tried to wear those labels know.

we know those labels have done much more than help with organization.

a name is but a face,
but a face is only the beginning.

nine one one

for those that were lost eleven years ago today, that didn't get a chance to speak.

nine one one.

a number that's supposed to keep us safe,
a number that ensures we are not alone.

nine one one.

a date written in red,
stained into our minds forever.

nine one one.

a warning that you can change the world,
that a single what-if can turn into something so unimaginably powerful it takes a minute to sink in.

nine one one.

a trio of numbers holding the world on its shoulders,
a constant reminder that no matter what we say to ourselves,
we are not safe.

it's a people to people kind of world.

too much communication could override the whispers;
those side conversations everyone ignores when they shouldn't.

nine one one.

it will always be shrouded in if-onlys,
caught in a warped darkness too confused to see any light.

now that we understand,
it seems simple to prevent.

there are machines that can do it,
things that make our inhuman ideas possible.

there are things that can think for us,
but really,
they can't replace the human mind.

you can't expect a machine to cry at the graves of those we have lost,
or scream into silence when there's no one to listen.

it is our responsibility to carry on this journey,
for those that nine one one wasn't enough for.

it was the people that started this,
and it shall be the people that end it.

a single idea can change the world,
for better or for worse.

heartland

home is where the heart is.

nothing more, nothing less.

it doesn't have to be a rambling estate,
or a shack in the woods.

it doesn't even have to be a house.

your heart could hold a sister,
the sea,
homemade apple cider,
a photograph.

sometimes home is nothing but a memory,
the sound of laughter or a smile you haven't seen in a while.

sometimes you don't even know it's there,
but absence makes the heart grow fonder.

other times it's all you've ever known.

coming home is one of the greatest feelings of all time,
second to not knowing what that feels like at all.

leaving is probably the worst.

but sometimes we're ready to leave;
sometimes we have to go just to realize where we belong.

other times we're ripped from what we thought was ours.
we vow to come back, somehow, someway.

everyone's home has a string of memories smoking from the chimney.

not all of those memories might be sweet and sunny
maybe there were a few that got bruised along the way.

find your home.

it might going back to where it all began,
or it might mean seeding somewhere new; promising.

every heart needs something to hold.
yours starts with you.