Gray January by Dennis L. Siluk
A lot of gray was in the city yesterday, a puffed-up skyin this dreary January, brings forward memories.
My boys, brood still in that dark blue room, won't come out—
Everything fell apart, years ago in that dark room like a boiling pot, their minds flooded; yet, they will not rise and roll down, the puffed-up sky.They are still in that room, mauling old memoriesperhaps reading my poems, turning pages. Even if I die
today, tomorrow, they will not come out…They just don’t want to, they like their prison—
don't you know I loved you more than words, but am helplessat fixing your anger, expectations ? You’re grown up nowI loved all my days with you, back when: gray, dark or sunny:
I still relive them, now and then, the sweltering air, the travelthe chasing of insects, and swatting mosquitoes,and the cobblestone streets—none with bitterness…So if you do sometime emerge from that dark gloomy room,parting your ways with the puffed-up sky,lift up your forehead in prayer to God ,
Show him eyes of forgiveness and all will fadeeven though you will not let me love!I would have leant you my love back then, but it was as
bright as yours, not like the gray yesterday, here in the city;
now I love only happiness for you, and I can live without
your love, as I have—I hold onto the past those far of memories
swatting mosquitoes, travel, and cobblestone streets.
Note: Dedicated to the Twins. No: 2555 (1-19-2009)
Commentary: sometimes children, when they grow up, charge their parents for the returning of their love, oh yes, you who are reading this, believe it, it is so. But what goes around comes around in time, and sad to say, they get in return what they thought, they never would, thinking it was a one sided deal, it never is. And my suggestion to the parents who are walking in these shoes, take the best years out of what they gave you, and you gave them, and tell them beat it, why spoil a good thing.
A lot of gray was in the city yesterday, a puffed-up skyin this dreary January, brings forward memories.
My boys, brood still in that dark blue room, won't come out—
Everything fell apart, years ago in that dark room like a boiling pot, their minds flooded; yet, they will not rise and roll down, the puffed-up sky.They are still in that room, mauling old memoriesperhaps reading my poems, turning pages. Even if I die
today, tomorrow, they will not come out…They just don’t want to, they like their prison—
don't you know I loved you more than words, but am helplessat fixing your anger, expectations ? You’re grown up nowI loved all my days with you, back when: gray, dark or sunny:
I still relive them, now and then, the sweltering air, the travelthe chasing of insects, and swatting mosquitoes,and the cobblestone streets—none with bitterness…So if you do sometime emerge from that dark gloomy room,parting your ways with the puffed-up sky,lift up your forehead in prayer to God ,
Show him eyes of forgiveness and all will fadeeven though you will not let me love!I would have leant you my love back then, but it was as
bright as yours, not like the gray yesterday, here in the city;
now I love only happiness for you, and I can live without
your love, as I have—I hold onto the past those far of memories
swatting mosquitoes, travel, and cobblestone streets.
Note: Dedicated to the Twins. No: 2555 (1-19-2009)
Commentary: sometimes children, when they grow up, charge their parents for the returning of their love, oh yes, you who are reading this, believe it, it is so. But what goes around comes around in time, and sad to say, they get in return what they thought, they never would, thinking it was a one sided deal, it never is. And my suggestion to the parents who are walking in these shoes, take the best years out of what they gave you, and you gave them, and tell them beat it, why spoil a good thing.
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