Saturday, August 20, 2016

Wrong Side of the Fence


























twenty year old memories,
call out from hidden outposts,
down here in this ancient relic room,
where only the living creep,
stealing their way into the day,
free from pathetic interference
and frantic innuendoes,
lying broken and confused,
amidst the first rays of light,
full of empty promises,
lost somewhere along the way;
tell me,
does it still hurt
after all this time?
questions seldom work;
answers seldom do either;
now I know she has the gift,
and now I know
she has the curse as well,
I suppose there was never any doubt,
only wishful thinking,
in this battle of one over the other,
and how do you tell one so young,
that you know exactly what it is
they are going through,
exactly what they are feeling;
when you have yet to learn yourself;
how do you erase the sadness
of a million years of suffering,
as she feels every broken dream,
every ounce of inflicted pain,
since time began;
when you go through life
looking into the face of evil,
it becomes very hard to remember
on which side of the fence you belong.
.

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