Woolworth Days

 

Had it been any somber inclination…

More mist would fall.

Yet, the impoverished ground…

Began it transcendence to hell.

Long before only one wish fell down the stoned well.

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Tell me one last time of love.

Tell me one last spoken verse…

Of what you had intended to do.

How red had been traded for blue.

When endless days encompassed in velvet touches of all that is new.

Fell victim to guile…

And, burning house residue.

Pine board days of Revelations, Kings and Saints.

Philosophers of manikin’s, in modern ways.

Bring back Woolworth times.

Dime store family albums caressed in similar minds.

All Polaroids shrouded in a love unkind.

I want you back.

As I sip a decade’s resin of breakfast tea.

For as the minutes become yesterday.

There is still…

So much left to question.

So much left to say.

 

 

 

 

Callous Scenes

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Mystery lane?

What beholds you?

Shrouded in slow action.

Covered in moss.

Lethargic up ’til…a turning point.

Colors of eyes that cross.

A decadent decision to turn blue to black.

Red to shattering yellow.

Burning house orange to impassioned green.

Soon, you are no longer a riddle.

You are an action which will evaporate within a family of callous scenes.imageedit_22_4540271855

 

the Good in Good-bye

How far down can I be?

From the life that swallowed me.

Wandering down the same faded lanes.

Looking for mythical messages…

In this, the most old-fashioned of New Hampshire towns.

Where antiquated becomes motionless.

Laying about without a sound!

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I would put a name to the provocation.

But am not quite sure how.

It is an unequivocal ride.

That will not end.

Not end until a name is pressed in stone.

Until then…

It is the longest of journey’s home.

 

 

I Wish

I wish I were a lingering cloud.

I would never have let you down.

I wish I were a great boulder.

Better able to withstand the storm.

I wish I were a great manuscript.

My words would be my bond.

I wish I were a lilac.

A forever remembrance of summer’s song.

I wish I were the sacred night.

And, the rebirth that comes with morning’s light.

I wish I were a glistening river.

To soothe yours needs.

I hope to transcend the ugliness.

And, believe in beauty…

As you believe.

 

Dearest

Dear Loved One,

Struggling through the last few days, have been an infliction of what was, and what I knew would always be.  If I could put a handle on time spent with you.  Nice and complete.  Red, steel and made for pouring nourishment over the land…I would.

But that image is not mine to hold.

It never has been.

As I walked upon the days of last…Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, etc.  Watching my old dog…Get older.  Watching the lilacs threaten to bloom and rescind.  As I held my face up to the azure sky…There had been a facade looming above.  Could there be death?  Loss, grief, forsaken-ness…as the ‘normal’ people do?

‘Course not!’

I had already known the answer.

Obtusely, addicted to words.  My role, as youngest child, had been parted out…long before I had any say.  My being inducted into, abuse, verbal, emotional, etc…A script that was handed down from cradle to insanity to addiction to adulthood.

How does one move to closure?  How do I manage the business of letting go…When acknowledgment never came?  There is a wonderment in me…

Did this really happen?

Could someone I loved have allowed this to happen?

Can I be allotted disdain and resentment?

So many questions, and of course, now, no answers!

A letter to the gods, seemed the only plausible way!  Your consideration of god!  And, my belief of the powers that be!

Though there be riddles for the pain.  There is no answer!

The only conclusion I can surmise, as I make a path of my own?

‘No one can drive me into oblivion, unless I hand them the wheel!’

Stone Walls


Had it not been for stonewalls.

Where  would I have hidden?

If not for the fragrant forest…

Would I not appear forgiven?

I write this as if,

a misplaced,

no trespassing sign.

Yet, the reality of a sumptuous walk among…

the leaves and trees and other things…

Collides with an evergreen, tumultuous youth.

It is nearest…

neglectful reprimands.

And, begs me back to the woods.

Where I place the need to feel good…

To be, understood.

Yours truly,

Every Abused Child