childhood
Discordant Symphony
Discordant Note
Scratching, floating
Hanging in the air
Pressure ebbs and flows
Headpiece filled with straw
A twisted melody lingers
Confusion and rage entwined
Resentment's bitter sting
Wrestles with sorrow's whine
Innocence stolen, trust shattered
By hands meant to protect
The child within still bleeds
Silently searching, begging for respect
Justice denied, our secrets buried
Master manipulator
A monster cloaked in lies
Crimes still hidden
Despite Death's hand
Too late for tortured cries
Feet of clay now returned to dust
From whence they darkly came
Leaving behind a tangled mess
Of trauma, grief and shame
The urge to desecrate, destroy
Wage war upon their grave
Wrestling with guilt, pity and relief
Yes, he is no more
But I am not yet saved
This victory feels hollow
An unearned, empty gift
When wounds still pulse and throb
No closure, the burdens unshift
I imagine looking for the tombstone,
Fists and soul clenched tight,
Anger, disgust, and rage.
Shadows cast doubt over my morals,
Compass dysfunctional, truth estranged.
Like Basque tongues tangled with Ainu clicks,
A labyrinth of questions ethics inflicts.
No tears of mourning shed
No idea the monster was laid to rest
Three years later, a happy accident
Release a demon locked deep in my chest
How to reconcile the little child
Who needed love and care
With the person now made to carry
This discordant note hanging in the air
In the depths of this discordance
Frustration and confusion still rise
Dare I confront the shadows
Curse their peaceful demise?
Every anguished scream swallowed
Each day, coerced, suffocated in silence
Transmuting years of buried aches
Why not release in rightful fierce violence?
Through serpentine paths of healing
Piece by shattered piece remade,
Scars shimmering with untold stories
Of battles braved and traumas mourned
In owning all that was endured
By innocent hands and shattered trust
Languidly learning to cradle, soothe
My inner child waiting, weeping in the dust
Each breath is an act of bravery
Every step is defiant, resolute
Reclaiming fractured narratives
No longer voiceless or mute
Through my poetry, I find release
May its rhythm grant me peace.
This journey from victim to victor
Is paved with shards of broken self
Reassembled by courageous hands
Into mosaics of pain and health
A symphony of survival
Echoes in the spaces in between
I cannot rewrite my cruel history
I yearn like others to live and dream
Beyond the reach of phantom hands
That sought to break and steal and mar
I rise in revolutionary softness
Tempered by battles, reminded by scars
The discordant note, a stubborn seed,
Resists the soil, its tyranny decreed,
Yet woven slow, within the larger frame,
An ostinato may conquer its shame,
Finds solace in the weave, a timeless plea,
Echoing Eliot, Stravinsky rewrites history.
The Triangle
Standing there suspended
Between the heavens and
The abyss I am at the
Pinnacle of the Triangle
Time stands still my
Heart is in my throat
The spirit is willing
But my calculations are weak
Casting this fragile apparatus
Off the precipe
The rush of cool air
The thrill of adrenaline
I am following an elipse
On a one way orbit
My position is triangulated
But the hypoteneus curves
I am accelerating along
A 3-second path I cannot predict
Light itself wraps itself around me
Until I am immersed in the deep
When I surface again
Time and space have
Resumed but the vertigo
Of total relativity remains