What next?

I took a look
A second past
I knew I saw it
I could not last


What was there
That scared me so
What was it
That I did not know

And just why did I
Not want to see
Why can it
Not let me be

And if I remember
What then do I do
I know something is there
Can it be true?

The Forgotten One

I hear a song
A voice from far away
Calling out
In the darkness

A tear drop falls
And finds its way
Landing at my feet
I look down, the tear a puddle

Where am I
What am I doing
Why am I here
What is this about

I ask others
I seek their understanding
I have no idea
Which path to take

A sadness fills me
I shed a thousand tears
And then I hear a calling
A little person whispering my name

Where am I
In all of this she says
Why not take care of me
I turn and listen, I hear my own voice.

The Painting

It sat upon the wall
Above a fireplace; showing fall
The picture was there for years
In the place of many tears

I cannot remember its detail
Pierce my heart; as a nail
It was but orange; I do remember
Thoughts like fire and burning embers

It was large; looking over the room
At the end; it did but loom
Watching over the scene
Of my memories; it does but lean

Is it a picture of a road?
Or perhaps a river; my thoughts slowed
It could be a chain link fence
A forest of trees; stark and dense

I saw it there as my childhood passed
A downward sorrow is but cast
It stood above me in the room
As my father created my tomb

What stories would this painting tell
It would see my living hell
It would know what happened to me
My thoughts hurt; please let me be

So what if the painting were to speak
What would it say; wisdom to seek
And if I cannot remember this scene
Just what does that really mean?

For six years; this painting saw
My thoughts meek; I do withdraw
From what happened in this place
My memories; they try to erase

Years have past; the painting still there
I remember; it brings back the scare
My memories amiss at the end
The painting knows; it can but mend

So what do I seek from this painting now
As my thoughts furrow my brow
Could it be that I cannot know
The horror too much for me to grow?

If I remember what the painting knows
My life is thrown; my thoughts close
I am frightened of this scene
Of what my memories can but mean

So I forget; the room for now
I continue on with life; thoughts disavow
I one day will remember the painting
Steady myself; my thoughts are waiting.