Your eyes say
it’s gonna be okay,
but your right hand holds
destruction,
and your left hand
reaches backwards,
hanging on
to ghosts
and other
dead things.
I would ask you “Why?”,
but the reason
is etched
plain upon your face,
like those Greek statues
you admired
for their symmetry.
You called them,
“Perfect beings.”,
but I could see
the cracks in the marble
that you ignored.
Maybe it was mercy.
Maybe it was compassion,
but part of me believes
that if you acknowledged
they were something
less than perfect,
then you
would have to acknowledge
the flaws inside yourself.
We both know
we did a lot of wrong.
And we both
did our best
to carry on.
Neither one of us
truly free
from those apparitions
of yesterday.
Whatever we claim;
be it perfection,
or uncertainty,
we still hold
destruction in our hands
and we need
to find a way
to put it down.
The world is a crazy place,
full of artists,
and masters,
like those sculptors
you so admire.
Maybe that is perfection
and I’m projecting
my fears into the stone.
We aren’t perfect,
but we can let go
of yesterday
and destruction.
HG – 2022
