Growing up, I never really got along with any of the kids in the neighborhood. All I really had to count on was my little sister Phoebe, and my brother Allie. Allie died a couple of years ago from leukemia. But his memory still lives on in the baseball mitt he left behind. . .
My brother Allie was a very
poetic person. He would
always write poems on his
baseball mitt. I always wished I
could write poems like he did
but I never had the talent he did.
Allie would take a marker and
compose his poems between innings,
after school, in bed, or at the mall.
It never mattered where.
Allie would write poems
where-ever he could.
I still think of some of Allies' poems today, I even memorized my favorites. He wrote one on how the sky might change because of the weather, but everytime you look up, its always the same blue with white clouds.
I loved that poem the most. I don't know, but something about change always bothered me. Change took Allie away from me, so whenever I look at the sky, I remember that some things never change and that Allie might still be with me.
Allies Sky Poem:
It's the middle of winter the sky is gray,
But under that gray, is the same sky I see ever day
It's a beautiful color, a light blue,
And whenever I see it, it reminds me of you,
I remember how things don't have to change
And even though the sky changed color, its still the same
It's the middle of fall, and the sky seems kinda red,
But as I looked at the sky that night from my bed,
I remembered how its still blue underneath the clouds,
And that I...