A mountain seems to float above
The temperatures that ripple Earth below it
Layers give the senses a shove
You're being crippled and you know it
.
Shadows stand behind breaks in light
Cookie-cutting reality, alit
Eclipses are just another sight
From the way you chose to run from it
.
Delusions are refusions
And naïveté replete
With the promise of illusions
That pulls rugs from under feet
.
A straight oar looks bent in water
Stars falsely twinkle through the air
You think you can mold a son or daughter
To remain with you, but won't be there
About the Creator
Gerard DiLeo
Retired, not tired. In Life Phase II: Living and writing from a decommissioned church in Hull, MA. (Phase I was New Orleans and everything that entails. Hippocampus, behave!
https://www.amazon.com/Gerard-DiLeo/e/B00JE6LL2W/
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Letter to our Queer & Trans Youth
Hey, you. I thought I’d start this letter by telling you a little about myself, just so you know who you’re dealing with. I’m an emotional dad, father to three amazing kids who we met through the foster care system, and whose presence in our lives has really transformed my sense of responsibility to the communities that surround us. The connections we’ve made with one another, with our extended families, and with the communities where we live and look for belonging have catapulted us into this whirlwind of emotional tumult which, while not easy by any stretch of the measure, has also been remarkably healing. I realize ours is really only a one-sided chosen family, since our kids didn’t get to choose to live here, but I’d like to think that they did choose to let us love them, which allowed them to grow to love us. And I think that’s where I want to go with this letter- to a place where you can find belonging and healing- even if the pathway there may be peppered with some emotional tumult.
By F Cade Swanson4 days ago in Pride
Comments (2)
The poem creates a striking image of the precarious balance that exists between our delusions and the brutal truth that awakens.
Our delusions are as monochromic as Daguerreotypes: ideals frozen in silver iodide and as mercurial as the vapor that develops them. Turn on the lights and what you're left with is harsh, brilliantly illuminated reality.