Long ago
the dust settled
over the long road
in the wake of something
a child could never understand
Bumps in the road
as if they would try
to separate body from mind
Next to dusty little shoes
a small suitcase sits
full of meager yesterdays
as the road stretched
into uncertain tomorrows
At the edge of the world
as the world stopped
a place of unknown shadows
but no welcome was made
Run, boy, run
the driver called
hang on that bell
but don’t look back
What child would obey?
Catch in dry, dusty throat
as the car, the only connection
sped so fast, so far away
A ringing bell has to be answered
Silence laps at the mind
drawn by fear like the hidden moon
a tide to unravel
the strongest of men
but the child is stronger
Dull click of the lock
the door opens
and a new kind of hell begins
Years pile on hopes
until dust covers all
in a white sheet
yet somewhere
under the ghostly folds
hope still learned to breathe
Now at the other end of an era
a man stands
stronger still
than what tried to mold him
or tried to break him
a spirit of kindness
smiles from his eyes
a shining beacon
as his bell laughter
rings out
in the land of the kind
and gentle people
He is not what his past
tried to create
he is what he chose to be
for choice cannot die
as long as hope lives

~ ~ ~

© W.R.R. 11/23/2011
For Lorne, 87 years and counting; you give me hope. Thank you.

About W.R.R.

Bipolar & survivor of incest/child sex abuse and adult male rape; bisexual, polyamorist, poet/writer/advocate & married father of four. View all posts by W.R.R.

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