Buried
A Poem
Buried beneath the facade of ego
and the pomp and circumstance
of being a modern human being
is a lost child, waiting for his mom
And buried inside that child
is the reversal of time,
and me, as an old man,
waiting to be young again
There are so many things
buried inside of me
that at this point, I can’t
even remember where
I put them all,
and maybe that’s why
my leg has pins and needles
and my temple hurts at night
because I keep stuffing
paper-filled memories
into the pores of my body
so I never forget them,
but also so I don’t
continually relive them
Buried inside of me
is a lot of pain and anguish
and lost memories of parents
who left too soon, who left me
to live out my life without them,
grasping for straws in a haystack
and coming up with two children
to make my life literally everything
and then those kids grow up
and leave my nest as they should
and I bury…
