Translucent tears told tales opaque and old,
Of lives half-lived, half hidden – always scared.
The scars of stories, harsh and aged and cold
Ran deep beneath the skin of souls, lives shared.
To run was something each one could have done;
And yet, they paused transfixed throughout the years,
The pain distorting lives, forbidding fun;
Their lives, entangled, weaved with growing fears.
Not one had planned for life to be this way.;
If each could change the course of blood and sweat;
In heartbeats they’d have done so. Yes? And yet…
They pliéd, each united by that day:
A day that each forever wished undone.
A day that saw the many cast as one.
Pooky's Poems 