My Searching Begins

The house is now quiet,

the children have gone

 

My beard they’ve left ruffled,

as memories grow long

 

With trains and dolls scattered,

where last they played

 

Their love remains buried,

inside of the maze

 

The cupola harkens,

a last candle there burns

 

As the attic sits waiting

for the toys to return

 

The old house is silent,

but deep from within

 

Their laughter still hides

—and my searching begins

 

(Thanksgiving: November, 2016)

The Mask

Do you synthesize your anger,

do you cauterize the burn

 

Do you anesthetize the wonder,

as your dreams are drugged and scorned

 

Is your judgment tempered badly,

with emotion fiery hot

 

Is your vision colored madly,

by your choices—sold and bought

 

Does your music play reclusive,

do your words fall off the page

 

Does ego kill your last excuse

—that mask you can’t explain

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: November, 2016)