April 14, 2016

 

 

Oh frown that came

and crumpled skin so fair,

when asked to expand on that which

caused an anxious glare.

 

Such agony that touched

ones very being,

as tears welled up,

distress, what we were seeing.

 

Oh time – the Boss

of one’s past misdemeanours.

Now dirty washing

taken to the cleaners.

 

Oh past, no tide

can ever hope to change.

Someone, somewhere will know

the truth, however strange.

 

Oh guilt, so heavy

on one’s shoulders still.

That never can be remedied

by any kind of pill.

 

Yet memory, so exacting,

in fine detail, chooses to recall,

that of which now matters,

really, not at all!

 

 

 

 

 

 

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