Second Chance
I drag my life as excess packages
in the bag lady’s cart.
Dropping my ingenuity in puddles behind doorways,
the sleeping cats hiss their start,
interrupted from their dreams.
Solace in solitude has no voracity,
Yet solitude drapes around me it seems,
as cynicism backs up to yellowing pale of mediocrity,
My life flows backward rewinding to the place
found in the innocence of youth.
To the days when wonder unfolded
with temple like aura, a masterful truth.
Truth is no longer a valid argument for me.
As her smile, there are too many interpretations.
Hiding in the folded arms of escape
I cringe with trepidation.
Self confidence seduces me, it fills my cup with excuses.
Then, forced to drink my own despair.
I choke on the words that are not there
and sip the silence mendacity peruses.
Can I have my life again?
Not the politically correct version cloned?
I can say now what I couldn’t say when
on the top floor of Wall Street, I was owned.
© 16 Dec 2010 Charles Henderson
For Paula's "You can say it now' contest
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