Buckets of Blood

What Does a Parent Do When Words Will Not Comfort Anymore?

buckets of blood with strings of yarn tiptoeing higher mingling with tubes

of poison

promising relief offering none

but with a smile she moves on forgetting yesterdays and dreaming

of tomorrows

that whisper hope

white coat demons prance between these yarns of truth and her life reeks

of buckets of blood

please understand she did not let me

down or change who she was or hide the small truth

of her leaving

me, it was a small courtesy

the demons cleave her patchy skin as I speak soft words

of trust

I smile small lies and give

easy promises still I cut the strings that hold her buckets

of blood

The Parent Lies, of Course.

_________________________ Michael Ritoch on his best days tries to be a poet/writer. He finds joy in his wife, two daughters, cats, one is really fat and the other is neurotic, reading philosophy written by old dead guys, and his friends. He writes about leadership, pain, life, suffering, sometimes happiness, and whatever else comes to mind.