And Now For Something Completely Different
Scarred
We all have the scars of our younger years,
some merely scrapes with only fleeting tears.
A sad few bear deeper scars unseen on their person,
That forge broken people and love uncertain.
some merely scrapes with only fleeting tears.
A sad few bear deeper scars unseen on their person,
That forge broken people and love uncertain.
Some children live without many wounds,
Charmed as they are, in loving caccoons.
Their hurts pass quickly and they soon forget,
Others, sadly, carry baggage forever, unchecked.
Charmed as they are, in loving caccoons.
Their hurts pass quickly and they soon forget,
Others, sadly, carry baggage forever, unchecked.
For those who live these harsher lives,
Eyes rarely twinkle that often cry.
Older in their hearts than their years proclaim,
They grow hard and scarred with unseen blame.
Eyes rarely twinkle that often cry.
Older in their hearts than their years proclaim,
They grow hard and scarred with unseen blame.
They wonder what they must have done
To have love answered by being shunned.
A child needs a parent like a flower needs rain,
But, for some, the gift - so craved - never came.
To have love answered by being shunned.
A child needs a parent like a flower needs rain,
But, for some, the gift - so craved - never came.
These sad few hope only to survive the trials,
that childhood is when no one smiles.
Each night ends the pain of another day,
The weeping prayers rise up; no answer allays.
that childhood is when no one smiles.
Each night ends the pain of another day,
The weeping prayers rise up; no answer allays.
So, they shut out the pain and grow dead inside,
Why suffer neglect when emotions can hide?
Walled off from pain, they feel nothing, and yet
Still starve for the love they never will get.
Why suffer neglect when emotions can hide?
Walled off from pain, they feel nothing, and yet
Still starve for the love they never will get.
But soft or hard, adults they become,
To face the grown-up world, cold-hearted and numb.
The pain of their youth, a dying ember
That gives no warmth nor a time to remember.
To face the grown-up world, cold-hearted and numb.
The pain of their youth, a dying ember
That gives no warmth nor a time to remember.
Only someone who had a good upbringing with enough love, but who has suffered some pain, could write this poetry. I congratulate you for your caring for all those who didn't know love, and maybe still don't.
Doc, got a question for you. You publish most of your writings around 4 AM. Are you still up or just getting up.??. All us good guys need our 40 winks; 25 or 30 isn't enough. Take care of yourself. Who else.??.
When I lived in the early eighties, in Birmingham, being all alone I used to club quite often, but 2 AM was reserved for weekends. Even if you are home and not drinking; go to sleep. Ha..the voice of experience. Semper Fi.......
Reply to this
I am a morning person,. my marine buddy! Actually, they are posted about 5:00AM (CDT) and that is when I hit the office. Beleive me, I am not one to give up my sleep. I need (desire, command, etc) lots of sleep. I suspect it is whe I do my best thinking. (grin)
Semper Fi, and Keep you Flint dry!
Ron
Reply to this