The Emotional Orphan

Nighttime–

The voices come
like flame-throwers
through the woods.
Into the shadows
along the wall.

Whispering,
until we have
nothing left to say.

We’ve used terrible words
to get subtle rewards.
Protected false pride
and the lies we heard.
Lies we believe and repeat,
for our own purposes.

It never has value
up here in my lofty position.

Shadows say we can’t change
we’re too old- too far gone.
And we agree -
At a minimum.
We are just gray matter anyway,
so let’s keep falling further away.

It has become savoir-faire.

A ritual of
Staring like strangers
through each other
into the wall with its shadows.

You say, your sword, knives and razors,
come unsheathed from confining cages,
and acceptance of hurtful words that mean nothing.
They go through me.
To words, to the lies,
I keep like you do.

I say, my darts – my arrows,
quiver from self righteous places,
and acceptance of hurtful words that mean something.
They go through you.
To words, to the lies,
you keep as Truth.

We use terrible words,
unaware we can change them,
oblivious we master them
Instead sending ourselves
crippled,
blind,
to the floor.

We are made for change.
I say hurry.
Let’s touch the ground of home – tonight.
Shadows on the wall and all.

Quietly rest with me, dreaming
so in the morning we awaken
in each other.
Shadows divided and gone.

*v2.0