Something I'd Rather Not Write

This poem came to me in a lightning bolt  yesterday - Sunday - as I prepared to go to church. It had been a strange week. Someone very young had died of a drug overdose sparking memories of my two brothers who succumbed in like fashion though not at so tender an age. How many of us tried to help them set their feet on a better path? I can't even count.

For Jim, David, and Andrew

The Ringmaster

By Susan Sundwall

The Ringmaster’s name is Cocaine

She will smile as she calls out your name

“Inside of the ring, dear, you’ll see,

how your troubles and sorrows will flee.”

So you join in the Ringmaster’s dance;

life is rough, why not take the chance?

That the ringmaster knows more that you

and the things that he tells you are true

The trapeze that you seize flings you high

it’s so pleasant this rush to the sky.

You feel like you’re wearing a crown;

won’t ever, not ever, come down.

It’s so wonderful here at the top.

Please, oh please, it just can’t ever stop.

But you glance at the Ringmaster’s face,

and somehow you see there no grace.

She whispers, “I know you want more.”

And his lies hide the dead on the floor

of the Circus where fools become slaves

and dance all the way to their graves . . .

To their  graves

                           to their graves 

Image: africa                                                                                        Free Digital Photos