Opening a box of
Old things, he’s
Transported back to
A time when things
Seemed brighter, when
The whole world was
Wide open, exciting,
Nothing insurmountable.
He puts everything
Back in, closing off
That part of him again.
Questioning, unquestioning,
Transition from something else
Unwanted but without alternative,
More of the same, continuing
Down the path unconscious until
Some other opportunity appears
And changes everything because
We dared to entertain things from
Another perspective and left
Everything else behind.
Harsh,
Uncompromising,
Lacking even the
Most basic civility.
Sometimes
Pain obliterates
Everything
Else.
Each day
A new
Opportunity
Missed.
They were taken aback when
The child spoke freely,
Unencumbered by strictures,
Joyfully sharing his experience.
It felt strange, uncomfortable
To them, but only until they
Realized he had been
Given the gift of a voice.
Sitting across
From you enjoying
The time we have
Together, knowing
It won’t last forever,
Wishing it would,
Words that bring
Us joy and sorrow.
One by one
They coalesce
Until they become
A noxious mass,
They follow
Each other into
The abyss,
Bringing everything
Else imaginable
Down with them,
Toxic cult of
Wretchedness.
Outward bluster
Masking inner
Insecurity.
Self-loathing
Wrapped up in
Defiance.
Acting tough is
Easier than
Healing one’s pain.
Repositioning
Their masks,
Playing
Meticulously
Sanitized characters.
Time dutifully
Alters perception
Until it barely
Resembles anything
Tangible.
They try to go back,
But reality has an
Unsubtle way of
Imposing itself on
The wishful.
It’s painfully clear
That everything
We thought would
Happen will,
Depravity having
Its moment on stage,
Plunging
All else
Into darkness.
