Sentimental Journey
We were swimming when my daughter asked
About the scar hidden at the back of my leg.
I wanted to answer truthfully,
But it was so hard to remember
What I spent years trying to forget.
A house that was never a home,
Just the place my dreams went to die.
The abuse suffered by such a lonely boy,
The wire hangers that would tear at my flesh.
The many tears that refused to fall.
The torture hidden behind the civil lies.
Once my father was gone the love died.
All the empty Christmas mornings spent alone
When the house was kept bare,
It wasn’t that we were ever poor,
Mother just didn’t care.
It wasn’t that we didn’t have faith,
It was just always busy elsewhere.
My daughter listens through her blue tears.
She had always thought that memories
Were meant to be a sentimental journey.
In less than a minute I had killed that lie.
My son was too young to fully understand
But something moved him to take my hand.
I saw myself in his soft brown eyes,
Felt the comfort of his large heart.
I didn’t even know I was crying
Or how much my yesterdays still hurt.
As my son held my hand I felt my past
Finally being laid to rest,
“I love you” was all that was said.
Tick, tick...(silence)
The only thing we truly have is time
Looks fade, friendships drift away
Relationships sour or end in pain
Health is fickle to the point of cruelty
Even our memories eventually melt into confusion
And yet - what is time?
It is both our master and our slave
At once, abundant and scarce
The whip and the salve on the wound
I don't have time to cook that healthy meal
I don't have time to read to my child
I don't have time to care for my ailing mother
I don't have time to walk in the forest
I don't have time to take a bath
I don't have time to cry or feel or be
Today, it feels like time has abandoned me
There is none and tightness binds my chest
Constricting my throat - stifling a scream
I feel I'm falling, I'm failing
And yet - I do not despair
For there is always tomorrow
I believe this time will be restored
Sometime in the future - there will be time
For all these things that should be precious
Perhaps there will be time
Or maybe it's all run out
Masquerade
what lies behind the mirror
what makes you even ask
it's never what we long for
since we hide behind a mask
or is it masks that we don
ever more than one
a face for each occasion
lest we come undone
fall apart, implode, decay
frighten the world away
leaving us alone and fey
to all our fears now prey
Should we look behind the glass?
Do we really want to know?
Is ignorance truly bliss?
Shall we just enjoy the show?