Damn The Past.

A poem

Photo by Rocco Stoppoloni on Unsplash

I don’t,
I, just don’t,
Do I blame myself?
That’s a question for the wind.

I try to live righteously,
I try to be right by them,
My past just keeps surfacing,
Like a rotten seed cracking through the concrete.

Is lying wrong?
Tell me,
What if the truth or the lie brings the same result?
What then?

Should you lie,
Or tell the truth?
I don’t know,
I don’t.

I look right into their eyes,
As the wind blows their eyelashes,
I see the smile,
And the joy in their pupils.

I know the truth will take that joy away,
I know the truth is not summoned upon,
So then I lie,
But I don’t, I just don’t say.

The things I omit,
They become seeds,
Not even time can keep them down,
At dawn, they always crack the concrete of time.