The Mystery (for Jon R.)

The Mystery(for Jon R.)

When a person knows

The depth of their failure,

I mean all the misses

And all the hits

That couldn't have been

More wrong,

There is a sense

The road has come to an end.

It's easy to think

The end would be easy,

Except, one always has

To see what's around the corner.

Everything has pain

Associated with every memory

How much pain

Can our victim stand?

Well, more than you know.

It's the self-punishment

That's the goal

Of this disgusting life.

Pain.

It's the least that should happen.

Every photograph,

Every situation seen,

Is a source of horror.

Should this be an end?

Nope. Box of spiders?

Gun to the head?

Rope?

All jokes aside,

A cloudy day is enough.

Be good to this poor soul

Who has no soul.

Your reward will be simple,

But I'm certain I don't know

What it will be.

Barry G. Wick

Last Poem

Last Poem

Will someone who writes

The last poem

Please turn off the words.

Barry G. Wick

The Old Bracelet

 The Old Bracelet

Though all the storms of these past years,

A small token of a mother’s love remains.

A bracelet sheathed in a thin layer of gold

With solid links that are hard to open.

It may have belonged to her mother

Though I am unsure of the ownership.

It could have been a start of  a charm

Or a gift from someone loved for years.

On this bracelet three charms hang

Attached to one end in combination.

Here a small crown less than an inch

Next, a gold plated wing and name plate.

All three tell some story I cannot surmise

Yet, I am drawn to this bracelet today.

On the back of the name plate,

Mother’s name in simple line inscribed

Perhaps others items were upon it

Charms that meant much to her mother

Or perhaps this was all that was there.

My wrist now shares this bracelet.

At the end of my arm before my hand

Three things simply hang in discord:

A striped sweatband of blue and white,

Rainbow beads on white cord, and this.

The significance of all this escapes me.

I’ll wear them for awhile to find

What they will mean to me today

Or tomorrow, time brought them all.

Barry G. Wick

Illusion

Illusion

Father makes a funny face.

Mother wears the best clothing.

Other children are friends.

The piano teacher compliments.

A recital audience applauds.

Young men become attractive.

A magazine tells their truth.

Another features exciting photos.

Food is given.

The weather changes.

Teachers select readings.

A first job pays.

So little lasts,

From generation to generation.

It is possible to watch

The changes over a lifetime

Provided with long life

And care for it.

The qualities diminish.

Less courtesy.

More violent language.

More hurtful words.

All mistakes return

Nearer the end.

Expectations wane.

Gradually the stare

Takes over all things.

Even with a bright mind

This all darkens.

There is no relief

From this final pain.

Children now will suffer.

None of their joy remains.

The old sit on benches

To watch their past

Come skipping by.

Barry G. Wick