Dedication: I Will Run page two
	I thought I was giving my body time to heal,                                               to recover,                                               to forget,                                               to simply mend;                                               allowing my infected woundedness,                                                   time;                                                   some time to turn                                                        the scarlet-green pus                                                             into gray-white scar tissue;                                                        the whimpering                                                             into silence;                                                        the forever dusk                                                             into midnight,                                                                  so life could be as I supposed it should be.                                          I worked at it.                                          I strove.                                          I shut out the memories;                                               refused to hear;                                               did not allow my eyes to see.                                          For months I did not shed one tear for my children.                                          Then,                                               serendipitously,                                               quite by accident;                                               certainly with no forethought on my part,                                                    I stopped in Waldron,                                                         for gas.                                          My Saturn needed fuel.                                          Not far from the pumps,                                               within sight,                                                    quite within my ability to hear,                                                         was a playground with children playing.                                          Their voices delivered me.                                          The churning sea of their innocence                                               rolled over me,                                                    through me,                                                         under and around me,                                                              and I melted.                                           I could not hold back the tears,                                                and once they began to flow,                                                     I did not want to.                                           I cried,                                                and I cried,                                                     and I cried,                                                          and when I could cry no more,                                                               I sobbed.                                           God!                                           I do miss them!                                           Yes, I miss them.                                           I miss every little part of them.                                           I don’t miss the role a demonic society carved out for me,                                                but,                                                     I do miss the children!                                           I miss my children.                                          They do not need me.                                          They never did,                                               but I desperately needed them,                                                    and I still do.                                          I need them to continually flush society’s contagious heartlessness                                               from my soul.                                          I need them to keep my steel sharp and my heart soft                                               as I cut into the Mountain’s thick callous.                                          Because of my children,                                               my senses will not be dulled.                                          I will not be numbed.
			I Will Run:  page three