A Brief Stop in the Journey of Life

This is a recent view of a street from my past. It represents a year or two in the mid to late 1960s. Quite a short piece of a lifetime, yet some of my fondest memories — as well as some of the worst — occurred here. I’ve no idea why I’m still pulled to this neighbourhood, sixty'ish years later.

Fifteen

Fifteen years since she walked away
Fifteen years is 5,500 days of wondering what went wrong,
5,500 nights of less sleep than needed.
And still, fifteen years later, the knife in my back is still being twisted.

Born into Chaos

People who are born into chaos,
who survive their first several years
denied any love and affection.
These people don't have big dreams.
They dream only of a home
that can't be taken away from them,
and a person who won't abandon them.

It Doesn't Matter Anyway

I've never told my story.

Not my whole story.

Not to anyone.

But only because no one has asked.

Not even the few who should have.

Maybe because they think they already know,

and maybe they're afraid to know any more.

But more likely it's because it doesn't really matter anyway.

I suppose it never really did...except to me.