Remembering the night I finally let myself understand how hopelessly co-dependent I’d become to my wife’s drug addiction. You may think this poem is sad. I don’t. I’m here to write it, what could be sad about that.
It comes to me
like a death row priest
sad and somber
but with quiet faith and practiced acceptance.
A memory
of a silent night
when clarity came suddenly
and I could finally see
the tarnished self delusion
that I’d fashioned into armor
to protect me from the truth.
Clarity.
With surgical precision
parred away
the thick and toughened layers
of flawed or fraudulent rationalization
that I had welded to my surface
to hide the holes left gaping in my soul.
One by one the layers fell away
and truth escaped the corporeal prison I’d created.
Truth hissed at me
then mockingly
transformed itself to tears.
My first memory.
A night of clarity.
A birth.
For though I’d sought and found the truth
no one was there to be set free.
With all the layered lies removed,
the man that I had hidden
deep beneath…
was gone
just another truth released.
It still comes to me.
The memory.
And it brings to me
the truth
transformed to tears.
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