Wrong Side of the Fence

two 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,

after all this time,

does it still hurt?

questions seldom work,

wasn’t that the advice?

answers seldom do either;

now I know she has the gift,

and now I know

she has the curse as well,

I suppose there never was 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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