I found this in my old notebook. I warn you, it's a tough pill, but some things have to be told.
Eve
"Maybe someday,
When I look back,
I'll be able to say,
You didn't mean to be cruel,
Somebody hurt you, too,
Madonna " Oh Father",
Daddy is a great artist,
"He drew this of me and my mother",
It was the way he always wanted us, she said,
I saw talent, and revelation,
Of the sins of the father,
The sins of the family,
A spectacle of degradation and lewdness,
Seen then, through youthful eyes,
And angry eyes, written in ink,
I saw a picture of Daddy, once,
Full attire, conviction and cruelty,
Mixed inside a complexed soul,
And yet, the picture still remained,
After he was long gone,
I heard about her through certain circles,
As I heard the rumors as well,
But face to face, made the slate,
That travels my mind, from time to time,
And probably, for as long as I live,
"You made me cold,
And you made me hard,
And you made the thief,
Of your heart,
Sinead O'Connor "The Thief of your heart",
Mother knew and never turn a blind eye,
Mother just tolerate it,
Covered it all up with a "liquid diet",
It was the easy way, I guess,
But even easy turns are too much to ignore,
And because of this, she shoved,
"Cleaning up" was the best option,
That she chose,
But mending was the hardest job of all,
I didn't stick around for the results,
I'll find that out, upstairs, of course,
Memories, short and long term,
No matter suppressed or attempted forget,
They surface as reflections,
To tell us where we've been,
Yes, we could've, should've, and would've,
But that's one in a series of moments,
And a state of mind and circumstances,
Were and not your own,
The dancer moves without a trace,
Poetry by Saga
Read 635 times
Written on 2007-05-14 at 04:12
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