Imperfect Picture
His brown eyes, once light and laughing
behind a picture frame,
now flame before me,
black with hate and anger.
Hands, large hands, soft and open palms
now hang in heavy fists at his side,
blocking out my bleeding pleas.
We fight on sacred ground;
ground on which we once walked freely,
hand in hand,
heart in heart.
Secrets are now artillery, with words for weapons
and memories like land minds,
echoing in violent explosions
across the landscape of my soul.
The resolution, though real, seems unattainable,
impractical and impossible.
Apologies are as vague
as kind words, between us.
But if there was a way, I would,
my friend.
If there was a way, I would.
-April 5th, 2006
behind a picture frame,
now flame before me,
black with hate and anger.
Hands, large hands, soft and open palms
now hang in heavy fists at his side,
blocking out my bleeding pleas.
We fight on sacred ground;
ground on which we once walked freely,
hand in hand,
heart in heart.
Secrets are now artillery, with words for weapons
and memories like land minds,
echoing in violent explosions
across the landscape of my soul.
The resolution, though real, seems unattainable,
impractical and impossible.
Apologies are as vague
as kind words, between us.
But if there was a way, I would,
my friend.
If there was a way, I would.
-April 5th, 2006