Looking All The Way Back

It all makes sense,
But only as a whole:
She shaped her choices
Playing at a role,
A role she learned
When very, very young,
Upon which, since,
A framework has been hung —-

The grownup doesn’t see
The child’s choice,
Ensuant interplay
With girls and boys;
Relationships, and why
Bad things felt right —-
The changing of, that takes
A steady light.

If failure is a teacher,
Yes, we learn:
And though we feel
Destructive or inept,
We have to learn our
Young self to accept,
The first step in forgiveness is
Our turn.

The year grows old,
But she’s still looking back
To find the spot where
She got off the track,
Because, she knows,
That “settling” is not
A trap in which
She is forever
Caught.

And though it seems
A marathon, a climb —
When we untangle knots,
It just takes
Time

Every Truth

A different tale.

If every truth I knew, I told,
I’d tell a different tale;
Of strength found in fragility,
Of stems unbowed by hail

For life is big, and merciless,
And friends are far and few –
But every truth that I might tell’s
Already known by you

If every truth that ever breathed
Could sing its song out loud,
There would be such a melody
As would attract a crowd

For life is grand, and beautiful,
And rarely gets its due –
But every truth that I might sing
Is known by me and you

To be a living, dying thing;
A Bonjour and Adieu
Yes, every single earthly truth’s
Already known
By you

.blank.

she handed me an empty picture…

she handed me an empty picture,
said it was my face

she left without another word –
me in my disgrace

it brought no renaissance of habit,
nor of attitude

so now here in the light, my blankness
is more clearly viewed

thus all my empty arrogance
sits out for wide display

an barren canvas, vacant frame,
with nothing real
to say