“Forever a Legend”
By: Dale L Hyde
They say time fades heroes,
Turns fire into dust—
But some names echo louder,
Refusing to rust.
Boots in the silence,
Eyes steady and sure,
A force of nature walking—
Unshaken, pure.
No script could contain him,
No myth could compete,
Legends were written
In the sound of his feet.
Roundhouse thunder,
Justice in stride,
A storm in still water,
With nothing to hide.
He didn’t chase glory—
It followed instead,
Etched into stories
Long after they’re said.
So raise up a moment,
Let history say—
Some men don’t fade…
They become the way.
And long after silence
Takes over the land,
His legend will stand…
Unmoved. Unplanned.
Forever remembered,
Not just for the fight—
But for being a symbol
Of strength, truth, and might.
God bless you Chuck Norris we'll miss you.
The Father Who Never Got to Be One
I want to tell you about someone most people never think about.
The father who never got to be a father.
You see, when people talk about abortion, they usually talk about two sides — politics, laws, rights, arguments. They talk about statistics and policies and court cases.
But they rarely talk about the quiet side.
The empty side.
The man who found out he was going to be a father…
and then found out he never would be.
That was me.
I remember the moment I first heard the words: “We’re having a baby.”
In that moment, something changed inside me. Something real. Something deep.
I started imagining things I had never imagined before.
Tiny shoes by the door.
A car seat in the back of my truck.
Teaching a little boy how to throw a football…
or walking a little girl down the driveway on her first day of school.
I imagined bedtime stories.
Birthday cakes.
First steps.
First words.
I imagined being called Dad.
And then one day… it was gone.
Not because of sickness.
Not because of tragedy.
Not because life took my child away.
But because the decision was made without me.
Just like that, the future I had started building in my heart disappeared.
No conversation.
No discussion.
No chance to say, “I want this child.”
People say, “It’s not your body.”
And they’re right.
But that was still my child.
Half of my heart was there.
Half of that life came from me.
Yet my voice didn’t matter.
And that’s something society rarely talks about —
that sometimes abortion doesn’t just end a life…
it creates another kind of loss.
The loss of a father who never got to hold his child.
The loss of a first hug.
A first laugh.
A first “I love you, Dad.”
No grave to visit.
No photos to remember.
Just silence.
I’m not standing here today to condemn anyone.
I’m not here to scream or to shame.
I’m here to tell the story that almost no one tells.
Because somewhere out there right now is another man sitting quietly with the same ache in his chest.
Another man who once imagined a future that vanished overnight.
Another man who never got to meet his son…
or his daughter.
People say fathers become fathers when the baby is born.
But sometimes…
A man becomes a father the moment he hears a heartbeat.
And sometimes the hardest thing in the world
is grieving a child the world says never existed.
So when we talk about life…
when we talk about choices…
Maybe we should also talk about the silent fathers.
The ones who would have stayed.
The ones who would have raised that child.
The ones who never got the chance.
Because I would have loved that child.
I would have been there.
I would have been a father.
And that chance…
was taken away.
~Dale L Hyde
Watching the Ones Who Watched Me
I didn’t notice the day
their hands started to shake—
the same hands that once lifted me
like the world weighed nothing at all.
Time didn’t ask permission.
It came softly,
lowered their voices,
shortened their steps,
and added pauses where laughter used to live.
I saw it first in the little things:
how Dad sat down slower,
how Mom forgot a word she’d always known,
how stories repeated—not because they weren’t loved,
but because memory was learning how to let go.
They spent my childhood protecting me from pain.
They made the world feel permanent.
Strong.
Certain.
And then one day,
I realized they were tired.
The roles shifted quietly—
no announcement, no warning.
I became the one watching the door,
checking the medicine,
listening harder to every goodbye
because some goodbyes start to feel heavier than others.
There’s a strange heartbreak
in seeing your heroes become human,
in learning that love doesn’t stop time—
it only makes time sacred.
When they left,
they didn’t really leave.
They moved into my habits,
my expressions,
the way I love my own people
with patience learned from theirs.
I carry them now—
in my spine when I stand up straight,
in my conscience when I choose kindness,
in my silence when words feel too small.
I used to think losing them would break me.
Instead, it finished shaping me.
They aged.
They passed.
But they never stopped parenting me—
they just taught the final lesson from the other side:
That love doesn’t end.
It changes form.
And it stays.
~Dale L Hyde
When Time Learned to Run
When we were small, the days were wide,
An endless road we didn’t measure.
Summers stretched like open skies,
Each hour a treasure we didn’t treasure.
A year was a mountain, tall and slow,
Birthdays climbed with patient feet.
Waiting felt heavy, minutes long,
Tomorrow took its time to meet.
Then somewhere between later and now,
Time loosened its careful stride.
The weeks began to fold themselves,
The years learned how to hide.
Days started slipping through our hands
Like water we can’t quite hold.
Moments once loud turned quiet fast,
The new grew old, the young grew bold.
We blink—and seasons change their names.
We turn—and faces show their lines.
The clock no longer asks permission,
It steals whole chapters between chimes.
Yet memory lingers, stubborn, bright—
A child still counting stars at night.
And in that glow, we sometimes feel
The world slow down, if just a while.
Time doesn’t speed—it’s us who change,
We carry more, we move with weight.
The faster it feels, the more it means
We’ve learned how precious is the wait.
So hold the moments as they pass,
Let presence be your quiet art.
For time may run, but meaning stays
Where love still lives inside the heart.
~Dale L Hyde
Outside Looking In
I don’t shout from rooftops anymore,
Don’t wave flags in digital wars.
I’ve stepped back—
Not because I stopped caring,
But because I started seeing.
For years they taught us colors,
Red against blue,
As if truth could only live
On one side of a line drawn by men
Who never planned to stand in it.
They told the left
The right were monsters,
Shadows stitched from old evils.
They told the right
The left were tyrants,
Marching ghosts of failed empires.
Both warned: Stop them at any cost.
Both whispered: Fear your neighbor.
And fear grew louder than reason,
Louder than memory,
Louder than common ground.
We forgot how disagreement once sounded—
Like conversation,
Not condemnation.
Like neighbors arguing over coffee,
Not enemies sharpening words into knives.
Now the loudest voices sit far above the ground,
Hands clean,
Pulling strings through screens and headlines,
Calling it progress,
Calling it order.
They rename control as safety,
Division as justice,
Surveillance as care—
And while the crowd fights itself,
The architects never bleed.
This was never right versus left.
That was the illusion.
This is top versus bottom,
Power versus people,
Manipulation versus humanity.
Good doesn’t scream from podiums.
It lives quietly—
In workers, parents, friends, strangers
Who once disagreed
Without wishing harm.
Evil doesn’t always wear horns.
Sometimes it wears suits,
Owns cameras,
Writes narratives,
And teaches the masses to hate
While calling it awareness.
They say we’re “awake” now.
But eyes glued to anger aren’t open.
Minds trained to despise aren’t free.
A people divided are easy to lead—
Straight into chaos,
Straight into silence.
So I stand here now,
On the outside looking in,
Not asleep,
Not blind,
Just unwilling to be weaponized.
Watching the storm,
Hoping we remember—
Before the noise replaces us completely—
That the enemy was never each other.
~ Dale L Hyde
Between Breaths
Life doesn’t ask if you’re ready.
It just places mornings in your hands
and waits to see what you’ll do
with the weight of them.
Death doesn’t rush either.
It stands patiently in the background,
not as a threat,
but as a reminder
that nothing here was meant to stay untouched.
We learn early how to live,
but no one teaches us
how to carry loss
without letting it hollow us out.
So we stumble.
We grieve wrong.
We survive awkwardly.
Some days, life feels loud—
laughter spills over tables,
sunlight hits just right,
and your heart remembers
why it keeps beating.
Other days, death whispers—
in empty chairs,
unfinished sentences,
and the names you still say
out of habit.
And somehow, both belong.
Living isn’t pretending death isn’t there.
It’s waking up anyway.
It’s loving with the knowledge
that love leaves scars
when it’s real.
Dying isn’t failure.
It’s the closing of a chapter
that was never meant
to be infinite.
We exist in the space between—
breath and silence,
hello and goodbye,
holding on and letting go.
And maybe meaning isn’t found
in escaping death
or conquering life,
but in honoring both—
by showing up,
by remembering,
by choosing to feel
even when it hurts.
Because the fact that it ends
is exactly what makes it matter.
~Dale L Hyde
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