By: Wendy Shywalker

Were you there? Was it a dream?
What was that place? Reality?
So many questions, so many memories,
so much pain.
Those faces, from my life,
were like a shock treatment to my soul.
Every face bought with it baggage, I didn't
want to unpack, memories, to painful to face.
Each called to me, to face them, understand them,
face my anger, set it free.
But my anger is stronger than all their voices and
I don't want to let go, I won't let go.
It is part of who I am, the anger helped me survive,
helped me become me.
These faces, that smile and speak in gentle tones,
want me to listen, want me to believe.
But it was these voices that hurt me, it was these
voices, that struck me down.
Why now should listen? Why now should I believe?
She was the first to leave and cause me pain.
She sits there and smiles, her eyes begging for me
to understand.
She was sorry she said," Please Peter. "
Well I don't understand. Mother! Why did you have to Leave?
Was I that hard to love?
Is this supposed to help I don't see how.
The faces continue to parade through me life,
I feel the anger rising.
Then I see you for who you are, father!
Why have you come? You were the worst,
you leave again and again, everyone more important
than you only son.
The pain is more raw now, opened to the air,
it bleeds.
Look at me Father look what you have done.
" help me father "
As I look into you eyes, the love reaches
out, the blood begins to dry "Let go" you beg,
"let go "
I feel it Pop, I do,
I forgive you all.