Crosses
Here, beneath summer showers,
Where lilac’s scent and thoughts
Hang heavy, he gathers memories
Of the not so distant past –
Faces, places, voices
He wishes he had long
Ago forgotten.
Yet, they drone on –
Like the beat of a drummer
In a marching band,
Continually tapping the same
Monotonous rhythm with each
Step he takes.
He ponders choices –
Good, bad, indifferent –
They were his to make.
But, these thoughts –
These memories that
Plague him, are what
Affect him most –
For often he feels –
In some strange, twisted
Way — they have chosen him –
Now, his cross to carry.
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