Balancing delicately on emotion One more expression you'll tip. You felt too much up 'til now How much more can you permit; There are letters crowding a shoe-box Waiting restlessly to make their trip. Do they speak of a long-dead past To some allusions you haven't gripped; What keeps you from sending them Why keep these words so tight-lipped.... Come to terms with the fear, child Sooner or later we all must sail that ship. Pools of hate at your feet Wringed from your desperate hands. They clench as you bend reality In your head to fit your demands; The blood of your bitter torment Flowing from the body of an icon. He is the target of your rage The one you have seeked revenge on; Will his death seal the vault Or would that add to the hole. All dying is temporary, my lady Forever will last guilt within your soul. Do you feel the loss of faith That dwells under humiliation.... There are no fruits on the tree That was fed by your degradation; Do you feel a chill of remorse For this script you have wrote-- Will this evict all the demons Be worthy of the time you devote; Consider the sweat on your brow At what conclusion did you arrive? Those feelings of hate are still there: All the labor-- the icon is still alive. Reminders of the horrid past Show up on your lovers' faces. Words meant for minor pain Turn back some virulent pages; The ink is still fresh and clean And the paper gleams flush white. From the margins a mist rises.... You turn pale at this ominous sight; All she's done exposed in sky-writing The message seen is still so unclear. Slowly you breathe in its meaning But as words it doesn't come nowhere near. Seas of disarray toss your mind As this mystery grows ever vague. What you knew breaks its chains Each piece runs away to stravage; Grasping for your scattered consciousness Trying to assemble this evasive puzzle: All the pieces look the same shape Perserverence and sanity is being guzzled; About to give up all dangling hope The connection suddenly becomes plain-- The answer lies within the victim: Time has come to end this outdated game. The abuser was within the mind Fists were fighting inside the brain. The fault was lying not in the scars But wrapped and tied into a name; You made yourself the typical victim Kept untold yesterday's violent truth. Held from others the whole story That's when shame had secured its roots; At last the tale has been told Here privacy will be guarded: Look around, this story's not unique But its unveiling has only been started....
Reason for writing:
I wrote the poem while confronting the crossroads. We all,
at some point in our lives, come to a place where we must
gather up all the material we have taken on and sort it out.
At some point you have to decide what is worth keeping and
what must be left behind. Some people do this in smaller
doses, but at least once we stand face-to-face with the big
one.... what we decide at that time maps out our future.
Hopefully we know how to read the map and make sense of the
legends....
Birth sign: Not entered
You need to log in to edit this poem if it is yours.
View more poems by Ralph Carusillo, Leo.