Word Fraud

The chosen weapon
so many have collected,
spawned from schoolyard bullying,
nurtured in middle school taunting,
matured behind boardroom, bedroom
and locked bathroom doors,
weaponry often hidden beyond the law.

How simple the lacerations,
a lexicon of ordinance
delivered in whispers,
shouts,
condemnations,
and sweet nothings.

How naïve our defenses,
trusting verbal assaults
as but air filled with everyday sound,
sluffed off as mere pin pricks,
until…

Until the bleeding starts.

We so often know not why
this festering array of sub-conscious wounds
spread over time seems destined to last.

And so…

Protection comes,
not in the form of retaliation,
but by the mind’s ability to seal off suffering,
at least during conscious hours.

Always hoping slumber will come easy,
knowing to fend off sleep-time invasion
requires perhaps some Quaaludes,
or one-finger, two-finger,
three finger libation inducement.


And still…

There are times prison locks are lost in shadows,
bars become blacklicious Twizzlers,
allowing dreams their escape
into that innocent time long past,
where sweet words heard
came accompanied by caresses,
became lessons embraced,
only to be banished as disguised sharp-edged weapons
buried deep beneath the purity of trust.

Yet, once made wise…

How grateful we become
for the dawn of another day,
knowing the nocturnal torture
has receded in sublime darkness…

At least until tomorrow dawns more word fraud,
the light for a charlatan’s black-veiled norm,

all while consciousness prepares for another day at risk,

its true -north of the journey dangerously adrift.