there was,

at one time,

a house,

on a hill.

strong cold cement walls hidden in a sea of trees.

 

i still remember the smell of the cool damp basement,

and the sound the cedar tree made

groaning in the wind.

 

and if i reach back –

far enough –

i can find the innocence –

lost.

can still feel the security of youth

slip off my shoulders,

and the absence of warmth with its leaving…

 

i grew up in that house –

well before my time.

learned lessons too soon to comprehend.

 

walked out of those doors

like a prisoner from a cell.

cowering beneath a sun – seldom seen…

 

clinched fists –

holding pieces of a broken heart –

with no hope of healing!

pensive –

hypocritically – contrite –

you stand alone,

a bastion of solitude in a sea of outstretched hands…

 

demure in your self-proclaimed in-culpability.

astonishingly – obtuse.

 

devoid of even a trace of empathy,

i watch as you bask in your

self-righteous piety –

seemingly unaware of the absurdity –

oblivious of your own flagrant nonentity!