by Bel Finn
out of touch with this seeming life
an illusion of truth
is my truth made of lies?
I believed I was safe
when I clung to the delusion
now I'm losing my faith
in the impossiblity of intrusion
I was never alone
when I wanted to be
and my hurts were never tended
I was left to bleed
my spirit sits knowing
while my mind fades away
and the truth becomes darker
and ever harder to say
perhaps I should fly
to my other-world home
go dance with the faeries
go hide with the gnomes
I could forget who I am
and bury who I've been
but I suppose what I really want
is to see my child again
like I did
in a dream
for she never was real
not to me
for I'm the child
who's unable to feel
not her death
or my pain
or my rage
or the flames
of my life
that could have been
it's all unreal
just a dream
of someone else's life
at least that's what I repeat
as I rock and I cry
after I wake screaming in fright
the rest of the time
I simply fade
and wait for my ashes
to become cold
and Grey
back to front
thecrowdedhousehold@yahoo.com