The Price Was High

As if platinum
they look down their
long sloped noses judging
with a blink of an eye never
really knowing those they criticize
merely prey we dance the beat
a drum roll of our own making
long hair flowing blowing

I’ve heard their words
felt their stares sting in an
uneasy moment silent forlorn
nobody speaking loquacious
jesters slicing deeply
wounds festering among
insinuations left
unsaid

lazy good for nothing lousy
father dreadful husband their eyes
. . . they turn away angry I’ve
imagined them all old friends
forgotten gone never to embrace what
I’ve become and family . . . just
silence yet those closest
know my love my heart

they see me not as a cartoon
image nor just my faults
they accept me as I am
as I do them . . . I’m not
their judge I follow my dreams
mumbling no regrets I’m
a writer of words . . . the
price was high.

Dan Hanosh
Dreams Are Yours To Share