The Things They Carried
It is the worry carried under their belt.
The child's tear that cannot be held back.
The weight of a broken love carried on their back.
It is the weight of the things they carried under their belt.
The tears held back with each goodbye.
The silent pain shadowing what is to come.
It is the present dragging the past behind.
It is the weight of fear silencing every word of freedom,
Leaving an echo playing in the back of their mind.
Death is only but a rest stop.
It is the loss of a friendship and the absence of a lover.
The lucid dreams of love gone mad and him coming back.
It is a dream, a dream with no color.
Like the things they carried, of a dark gray color, under their belt.
