INNOCENCE RETURNED
	Death, despair, dishonor. These words tear at my soul, leaving a once pure heart empty of feeling.                                                     Cold, calculating, comtempt. I  thought I could trust you, I thought you were suppose to love me. You were the one who was suppose to raise me. You were the one who was suppose to guide me into the next phase.  I was the clay, and you were the molder. What did you create? Did you even care?  I gave you my love...what did I get? A slap, a jab, a bitting remark. You called that love.  I call that pain. I feel consumed by this rage, this anger. Who were you? What did you do? Did you love me? Did you care? You created in me a void,  I ran from the  pain, cutting my heart and soul, from the blackness you created.  I ran to my safe place, a haven of words, of comfort, of hidden forbidden joy. You created in me fear, timidy, shame.  I ran from love and joy in life. You destroyed me.  I ran.  I ran from the funeral in joy, death was not a carriage of pain, but of bliss. Yet, you were still with me.  I still carried the pain, the fear, the emptiness that only you could create. My heart was encrusted  in ice, barely beating. My soul was tormented, a shadow.  Yet, from this rubble, came a glimmer of  hope. A flicker of life.  Love. I thought it had died. I thought you had killed it, like you had destroyed everything else. But no, my love was cocooned and sleeping, waiting to break free from the invisible silky bonds of it's web.  I found him.   Light. happiness, truth.  I found a man who made me see the  butterfly, and not the worm.  I found a man who made me feel like a woman.  I found a man who made me feel.  I found a man. What were you? Surely not a man.  You are a ghost that has haunted me  both in life and death.  Taking from me my childhood and adolescence. I will not let  you take my future.  The horizon  clears, the sun appears. I see the shade leave,  flying back to it's dark corner of non-exsistance. I see the warm rays of light. I see....me. And that my father, It is a happy image, indeed.
		(c) Bearurr, 1998

 
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Bearurr's Love Poetry