All this time he saw himself as prudent and cautious
he knew his timidity as few others could
how had he taken these risks?
He scanned his scars assayed his injuries
felt dull ache along fault lines of bones long broken
knew too the pain only memory can bring.
All self-inflicted I was not prudent I was not cautious
I ran through fire snatching at gold rings where I could
hungry to taste too willing to satisfy my eager appetites.
The best little boy in the world grew to manhood
the man knew only the boy as his father
the man was not who he thought he’d become
could not understand his own recklessness.
Mind gelled and jailed in sentiment
sweet sap oozing like amoebic amber fossilizing perception
these actions these mistakes speak for themselves
they were something I thought I could never do.
At least I wrote myself an interesting story.
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