The Crap’s in the Cradle

Your failings whisper to me
I look in my warped mirror
Seeing only ghosts of you
Indifference becomes me, I fear
No sorrows or tear-stained pillows
Just absence where you belong

The years passed, with them my caring
Hatred faded like sun-bleached photos
I see your face in sepia tint
Awaited the days of your ending
As you predictably reached for me

“And the cat’s in the cradle and the silver spoon
Little boy blue and the man on the moon
When you comin’ home dad?” Who gives a damn?
We didn’t get together then, dad
No, there was no good time then.

Sometimes, later is just too damned late.

11 thoughts on “The Crap’s in the Cradle

        1. Bill Jones, Jr. says:

          Hanno, those are very nice. I didn’t comment on the blog, because it feels like a personal space. I think it’s touching how willing you are to pour out your heart that way.

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