This is a poem I wrote about my grandpa. He was (as I am sure all grandpa's are) the greatest man to ever live. A farmer, a WWII fighter pilot, a mathematical genius and my favorite person on the whole planet.
He walks the wings of a plane that hasn't flown since 1945, in his mind that hasn't seen today in years.
His yesterday a hostage of war, where he has no allies and no fears.
I remember how he stood like a bright tomorrow on the dim horizon of my childhood.
Everything I ever wanted to be or hoped I would.
I remember the feel of the giggles as he held me with one hand over his head,
I could see the world, the stars, I could see where the road to tomorrow led.
I remember he was the safe haven from the slithering death in the house of chickens,
the final word on everything,the hero of everyday, a masterpiece built from slim pickens.
I remember the car rides to golden arched places, just so he could sneak a smoke,
only to be ratted out as soon as we got back,.
But we never stopped going.
I remember how he made snow a meal and a poor girl a princess.
I still remember how now he smiles politely fumbling with feelings that find no hold in his brain,
as he fights endlessly with the shard of memory that only cuts his heart as he tries to hold on in vain.
I wish I didn't remember forever how it would be,
how now he doesn't even remember me.