What have we done?

I am not quite sure exactly what

Some parent’s expect of their children

In terms of success and failure

Because of course each individual is unique

In their own belief system developed through life

Though I do know exactly what

Some middle aged men and women

Expect of their parent’s, which is

Love and Understanding that

Love and Understanding means more to them

Than any award or prize, delusions of wealth

And superfluous measures of success

Handed down from Great-Grandfather to Grandfather

Then Father to Son who’s soul purpose it often seems

Is to belittle the latter, like some draconian wheel

Turning itself in circles, only to cause

An endless cycle of fear and inferiority

Leading nowhere fast, leading nowhere good

On an endless road of resentment and ill worth.

And we don’t ask for this. We are born to this.

We are flesh and bone

Fueled by the imperfections of our father’s

Father’s, father’s son

Who one day will understand he did nothing wrong

Oh Mother, dear mother

What have we done?

Call me crystal and I’ll make this clear

Call me crystal and I’ll make this clear

The world’s your oyster, won’t you be a dear?

Remember us, when you’re famous

Such a dangerous manifestation

Bite the bullet trigger happy kid

They said break a leg behind closed eyelids

Opportunity, don’t blow it

You’re a shooting star, now show it

Call me Ishmael cause I am drowning quick

Wailing never got you through the thick

What more could we ask for?

Through closed doors

Another kid’s born in the grave

By the third day he’ll be saved

Another wick is burnt too late

Just one more spirit and you’ll feel great

Wipe the Chalice, next in line to drink

Every word has meaning, child

who’s never’d time to blink

Everyday is Halloween

All this life it seems I’ve been running away

Thought I could turn it off

Pour me a cheap escape

Fine tune this sort of self therapy

It never goes away for long

An undying mother’s love

Nursed me warm when I was not

At 13 I learned a lot

To have and to have not

Yet still I’m dreaming of

His wake —

I tried to look into the psychic’s eye

Try to figure out what’s going on inside

He sold me fame and fortune, it’ll be alright

Still I wound up bound and down

Screaming never made a sound

I feel freedom in the clouds

A kiss really meant help me out

Some fell in love and some fell down

But I’m not looking for that now

Another needle in the crowd

Another burden, a life

released —

I had a girl you see, she was better than not

She gave me all she could in a parking lot

I forced myself to try but it was never enough

Yellow light flickered around

We were kids no one talked about

An endless stream of aimless doubt

Like a weight dragging me down

When all I wanted was an out

She burned quickly then burnt out

But she was pretty

I was lucky, she was free —

Daylight savings time in another month

I’ve been killing time since I was young

Never quite so sure who I was or what

he meant by get away from me

Or rather feeling the relief

His coarse beard upon my cheek

In the mirror what I see

Sometimes it isn’t me

I try my hardest to believe

A half hearted destiny

There’s a reason or a message

To be —

I turn myself around, spin it upside down

Try to feel awake the best I know how

Still that echo rings in one ear then out

This haunting jealousy

For everyone who isn’t me

For everyone I long to see

I keep them safe within a dream

Scrubbing never kept them clean

My hands is what I mean

Everyday is Halloween

Except I can’t wear my mask

and see —

So I’mma take a walk, drown myself in thought

kick rocks until I figure out the plot

I’ve held this silver plate as long as I can take

It never helped me in the end

I’d have to die to make amends

Till then I’ll cheers to friends

A forced smile helps you fit in

Sometimes it’s better to pretend

We don’t break until we bend

His choice is my defense

For choosing, to live

The end.

forgive me father for I have sinned

Everything is quiet now

in the middle of the day

where misery has settled down

like bricks on my chest lay

and although I can’t make a sound

my voice has gone astray

I will not settle underground

tomorrow I shall wake

to soft sounds of the morning

like loved ones I have lost

reminders that my mourning

is not in vain but just

and in the shadows of my mind

to where I now so lay

forgive me father for I have sinned

relieve me of this day.

The words I’d say to an unborn son.

If you’re not ready to let go,

then don’t.

Hold on as long as you need,

and then some.

These are words I’d say,

to an unborn son.

If it seems repetitive,

that’s good.

If it hurts in a hundred different ways,

it’s supposed to.

If you don’t want to smile,

let them see you frown.

These are the words,

I’d say.

Does it get easier,

at times.

Should you forget,

never.

Is it your fault,

no.

The words I’d say are these.

Life will kick your ass.

Love will break your heart.

Death will drug your senses.

With the strength of a mother’s love,

I would say.

You are your father’s child,

but make no mistake,

you are not your father.

Dance with the Devil at Noon.

Mother used to say,
“don’t talk to strangers now!”

And father used to say,
“don’t be a follower you hear me!”

What a different world
we live in today.

Mother I’m sorry says the boy.
Father I’m sorry, he crosses his heart.

But to make it in this
Brave New World

I must dance with the devil at noon.

A working hypothesis.

Burning my hand while removing our bagels from the broiler, I hear a voice.

“BECAUSE THERE’S NO GOD DAMN ROOM!”

And I recognize that voice.

That voice is not my own.

It’s deep and fearful.

Hoarse and irrational.

It is the voice of an angry man.

It is the voice of my father.

Then there is silence.

A long insecure silence.

A fearful silence.

And I recognize that silence.

I have been on the receiving end, and that is a terrible place to be.

Catching myself in the act I quickly apologize.

“I’m sorry.”

Only now it is my voice.

It is mild and tame.

Concerned and rational.

It is the voice of a scared child.

It is the voice of a worried man.

And in my mind I’m thinking, please believe me.

Please for the love of all that is holy.

Believe me.  Believe me.  Believe me.

Because what I meant to say – while burning my hand and channeling the blame to whomever(the loved) was in firing range – was, “because I’m the idiot who didn’t think twice before touching a hot pan.”

It’s my fault.

Not yours.

And now I’ve got the scar to prove it.

Through outwardly and publicly expressing concern and or contempt for one’s actions, said party, will reject the path of his predecessor in order to lead a gentle existence.

It’s a working hypothesis.