Sweet sweet
Girl, you are
In the depths
of despair
the lines
of black crows
surround the
airborne stain
it is the past
coming back
to bite your
tender behind,
over and
over, the same
pain, no gain
the ravages
of early days
the power plays
only by moments
of détente,
the infant voice
becomes a mother
calling out
to come home
be good,
don’t be like me
do what I say
not what I do,
how much is
that worth
to you,
find a path
out of the
maze, it’s
choking your
so cut
the losses
there is still
time to make
your mark,
leave the world
with the joy
that evades
your face,
erase the anger
and replace it
with a
wince, since
that is all you
can provide,
trust me
the place to
hide is in the
no living there
but here
we are, waiting
for an embrace,
the beautiful
face that
once graced us,
think and
come home,
be born again
at fifty,
better than one,
any time!


©J.W.WINSLOW 10/1/12