the road less traveled might just be the ride of your life!
Carolee DeanThis is what love is. Not the moments on the beach, or under the stars or the trees, or in the moonlight. Love is sitting together in the quiet, waiting for death to come.
Knowing you’re not alone.
Tags: jessica dylan-dawson
I have loved and been loved, thoroughly and deeply by good and decent people who believed in me. Who let me dare to believe in myself.
Carolee DeanTags: dylan-dawson
When I get to the part about Jess kissing me on the Fourth of July and taking me to her beach house,I look at my father and wonder what it is like, seeing people only through a wall of glass. Never touching them.
Carolee DeanTags: dylan-dawson
Is she worth all that pain?” he asked me, smiling.
“Definitely,” I said, still reeling from the events of the day.
“But I don’t deserve her.”
“Then be somebody who does.”
“That’s what I intend to do.
Tags: dylan-dawson mr-gomez
My head was spinning. I felt like I’d been drifting, lost at sea all my life, and now that I’d found dry land, I couldn’t quite get my bearings.
Carolee DeanTags: dylan-dawson
This is the house where they found Jack dead.
This is the room
of the house
where they found Jack dead.
This is the floor
in the room
of the house
where they found Jack dead.
This is the wall, splattered in red,
standing next to the floor,
in the room
of the house
where they found Jack dead.
This is the door leading into the tomb.
This is the wall splattered in red,
standing next to the floor
in the room
of the house
where they found Jack dead.
This is the clock hanging over the door.
This is the wall splattered in red
standing next to the floor
in the room
in the room
of the house
where they found Jack dead.
This is the bird coming out of the clock
hanging over the door
in the wall
by the floor
in the room
of the house
where they found Jack dead.
This is the song in the heart of the bird
coming out of the clock
hanging over the door
in the wall
by the floor
in the room
of the house
where they found Jack dead.
These are the words
to the song of the bird
coming out of the clock
hanging over the door
in the wall
by the floor
in the room
of the house
where they found Jack dead.
This is the man who sits in the cell.
Eleven years have come and gone.
Jack is dead, but he lives on.
He waits in silence, but he still can hear.
The ancient song echoes in his ears.
The sound of time with its tick tick TOCK!
The song of the bird coming out of the clock,
hanging over a door leading into a tomb,
where there stand four walls splattered all in red,
and a floor where a good man fell and bled,
in the room of the house where they found Jack dead.
These are the words of the cuckoo’s song,
as he asks us who will right these wrongs.
The cuckoo sings and the cuckoo wails,
for the dead who cannot tell their tales.
Rage all you want, but at close of day,
justice is mine, and I will repay.
Tags: dylan-dawson
We are all rotting, making our way from womb to tomb, to the rhythm of the great clock counting downward to the grave.
Carolee DeanTags: dylan-dawson
I was
holding her
and she was
holding me.
Couldn’t see
we both were
going down.
When holding on
is the only thing
you’ve got,
how can you know
this is how lovers drown?
Tags: dylan-dawson
I stand to leave, but my father says, “Wait!” over the red telephone. “Let me just look at you a minute.” He smiles at me proudly. “I know you been in some trouble, son, but you turned out good. That’s all I ever wanted,” he tells me. Then he puts his hand against the glass and I put my hand against the glass. “I love you,” he says.
“I love you, too,” I say back.
Tags: dylan-dawson
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