Lucid

The harrowing matriarch of old,
lost to the truth of her blood
sad angry choking
unable to notice how those hands are place gently around our necks now.

But I see.

Dissolving, dismissive and absent
sired by despairing silence,
and it’s overwhelming after the fact accolades to our worth,
he looked right past us.

But I see.

An ancient wellspring of heavy pain
waving weighty walking sticks
stubborn righteous and ignorant.
Shame on who?

Oh, I see

Our children with their open hearts
and their tears of joy
and their hunger for existence,
please don’t look to me.

Show me.
So I may see.