Would i that it were
a sinister premeditated swindle trickery or plot
in that my rage could lye,
but you so sincere, honest and hurt.
who knew that the unlived lives of a parent could have such a grip
from generation to millinium.
and i with my incessent child needs,
you with your insaciable fears
play the twisted tune of generations past,
dead and dying,
for an audience too absorbed to see.
All goes well , though we have a nagging sence
we're playing a worn song.
lets close our eyes and play on,
through storms and torrents of weather we called
long before we ever were.
Just squint if you see i'm off key,
you know soon enough my halfling heart will need to obey
the rythems of pain ingrained.
The little ones they'll learn and play on
the retched song
thats only just begun
09.14.97
