Time – a prison

I see my Daughter’s life, spent in a time capsule,
locked in this prison, a prisoner of her own devices,
waiting for the phone to ring, to bring her to life,
to open the cage door, behind which she keeps herself,
hidden, setting her free for a moment, to run,
with living time, instead of locked up in it,
letting it be her guide, carrying her along.
The moment of life passes, time once again stands still,
as she reincarcerates herself, relegated to that void,
that pain filled space of motionless, lifeless time,
dead time created by, imprisoned by her belief
- in this conman, a man steeped in bullshit, in lies,
this imbecilic child in a man’s shell -
that it’s love coming from this controlling child / man
fated by, fuelled by the emotions of a child, my Child.

Oh !!!, to turn back the clock, if but I could,
teach my Daughters, they need not, should
not follow, blindly, the footsteps of us who would
send them on a journey towards self-destruction,
we, who guided them along without instruction,
we who failed them miserably!!!
That we, be their mother and me.

B. J. “A ” 2
May 5^th  2002

Ideas, thoughts, feelings
inhabit space and time,
they come to mind .

Baggage one carries throughout life is but an evil spirit,
it kills, slowly, the soul, is the enemy that keeps one
from being free, is the bondage – like Bob Marley’s chain -
that is dragged across one’s subconscious memories,
upon life’s experiences, weighing down one’s brain
like millstones, from long ago, wrapped around the throat,
forced to carry around the neck until drowned
- for those not strong enough – in the waters of living.

These pieces of a past – be it yesterday, today, tomorrow
or from yesteryear – drive down the spirit, the soul of women,
of men into the depths of an abyss, a hell, and into the rivers
of a life best left in the gloomy darkness of the past
from whence they came, after being brought to life,
into the light, into sight, to be touched,
to be acknowledged and understood,
to release the heart from being wood.

They, these shadowy pieces, should be given wing,
set free after having spoken their piece, letting the heart sing
of their passing, as they pass into the darkness, into the either,
from whence they creped, like a snake, so that neither
the experiencer nor experienced need handle that baggage,
- live out their troubled lives in a gage, full of rage -
nor carry that baggage, but once, to some waiting train
 or given wings, leaving the shattered soul and this plane.

Give that baggage a well-deserved vacation!
Walk away – forever – never again set foot in that station!

B. J. “A ” 2
May 3^rd 2002