Ryan Lee

I used to feel the overwhelming feeling of home.
The feeling you get from a place where you grew up.
A place where you first did this and you first did that.
A place where you seem to know everybody, everything,
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Stop the bullies from prowling around school.
Tormenting kids just to be cool.
Stand up for what is right.
And keep these cowards far from sight.
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You’re down, but it won’t be for long.
Because your will is great, and your faith is strong.
Life is tough; you must take your shots.
Your nerves get frazzled and your stomach in knots.
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Respect has become an ancient word.
Practicing it is hardly ever heard.
Respect you, respect her, and respect me.
The reality of that happening you rarely see.
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Death can cause grief and never ending cries.
It takes a while for the pain to go away.
But remember a spirit never dies.
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I worked there for many years;
until it was destroyed by a storm.
I felt the pain and cried the tears.
Life now has a different norm.
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Nostalgic feelings about this memorable ground.
Neighbor’s voices were a welcome sound.
Our family lived there for thirty years.
A place of laughter and a few tears.
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So excited to be vacation bound.
Smell the salty, breeze off the sound.
White sand beaches glaring bright.
Waves crashing day and night.
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A breath of fresh air and a walk in the park.
An early evening stroll before it would get dark.
A chance to gather my thoughts and get a peace of mind.
For days that would get rough and not be too kind.
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Live in the moment and not in the past.
Life is too short and it moves too fast.
The future can be promising; but it can scare you to death
So enjoy the present and take a deep breath.
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I miss seeing students in the crowded hall.
Longing for football games in the fall.
Passion and enthusiasm to make an impact.
Patience to keep my sanity intact.
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Oh how I love that golden dome;
it gives me a feeling like I’m close to home.
Game day arrives and the leaves are brown.
Playing of the Victory March is a joyous sound.
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Saints on Sunday and a familiar buzz.
Seeing familiar faces saying, “Where Y’at Cuz?
Walking in the Quarter on a warm, spring day.
The bands and the music and all the jazz that they play.
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She lives in the sound of church bells ringing on the hour
and in the sound of blue jays chirping in the yard.
She lives on.
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The students before me will they finish school and go to college.
Will they have the maturity or will they have the knowledge?

Some act like they don’t care or is that the way it may seem.
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