Sorrow Is An Old friend To Me
Sorrow Is An Old Friend To Me.
on November 3, 2007. ©-MFB III
as if he belongs here. He tugs at my smiles trying hard
to pull them down. The muscles strain, yet smiles hold most times
but just as often they don't.
Frowns appear on my lips and on my forehead and in my posture as well.
I bend beneath his hugs of pain in a dark corner of my mind.
He throws parties when love dies, his grey streamers hung below my eyes
are the color of tears, the balloons are all black and very much deflated.
The stereo only plays angry words, over and over again and shadows dance
with fevered paces to the litany of its sounds.
He has stood by me when love slowly vanished from the eyes of those I cherish.
Years of companionship lost in a sea of tears and then sunk
in the hollows of my eyes.
He had an all out banger when my Mom died. She was manic depressive
flattened to a bookmark in her collection of good memories.
He was extremely close to her too, but then she was gone 60 years and a flick
of the life support switch.
I signed the disconnect order, but he guided my hand.
He followed me home where he threw a wake..but I wasn't .
He always seems to know when I'm vulnerable that's usually when
he brings friends of his over to stay for awhile
They stain the carpet of my soul with their their heady concoctions.
They trash the orderly progression of my life.
Things get shattered like my heart tattered like my dreams
and battered like my soul
Then calm arrives, usually unexpectedly for just awhile.
Doors slam, the unwanted disappear and the sunlight creeps in until all is well again.
Though I can still see sorrow peeping in the gaps between the curtains on my windows, waiting for an opening, faithful to the end,
sorrow is my friend.