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Guest Writer

Or: The nature of money
Concepts of misguidance
by Ray Solar

ush forward rotten past
the one I can't forget
that I can despise you for
one last "For good times' sake"
the one I never had

There is the memory
and "The have been there"
that still hurts in many scarred places
inside the prison of the body
I am trapped with my hatred

What is a boy to do
when he is born too old
for the vessel that carries his mind
too little to protect himself
from the blow of righteous parenthood

How could you ask for my soul
to give you my life
to fulfill your bruised dreams
to clean up after your messed up life
washed out by greed and paranoia?

Oh, how sure I was from early on
not to replay your role, your life
but wherever I looked you were there
as part of a club of blinded chauvinists
as I stood on the other side of happiness

Mother, subdued by her neediness
and broken by a fear of life
went delirious early on
turning my life into the never-ending
ride from hell
I was her enemy, my father's son

Torture hardens what's supposed to stay soft
my heart never blossomed
until all the pain suffered
ripped it open to cry out for help
but no one could hear my silenced pain

It was always money you pushed in my pockets
bribe money, to clean your dirty conceits
from the insults you spit out while
the tears of my lost childhood
ran down on my face

You cracked like a statue
before my visual eye
the last pain inflicted broke you apart
shattered was our blood contract
you lost the power to hurt me
to love you, I was never allowed

See more from Ray in our archives.

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