The story is the same; poor, but happy
Then when he turns two his father leaves.
But two, just two, doesn't lend much to memory
So he formed the ideas of what he was and what he was from stories
There's a storm brewing under the guise of protection.
Protection turns to capture wrapped in the most earnest and loving of intentions
He marries.
They waste away; decaying in the shallowest horizon in muck of complacency.
But she's still there.
She still has the captive.
Her heart pours, as does the wallet.
The old man comes back to die.
Again her heart pours, as does her pride.
The old man is bitter now,
nothing left to lose
He asks and asks and asks of her
and takes and takes and takes.
The boy is filled with blind hate.
The old man dies.
The boy has a daughter.
The boy's wife leaves.
He's back to his capture.
The best prison is one that doesn't look like a fortress
She steps in an fills the role the daughter needs.
She fills in gaps in love and food and money.
She fills in gaps she was never intended to fill
The boy finds another daughter
and another wife.
The whole time the capturer lingers in the shadows
pointing out the errors
plugging holes with her blaming fingers.
The boy never really left home
When this marriage ends he's in ruins
the woman picked up his pieces and carried his burden
she started to realize what she's done.
she saw his handicap
she saw the damage already done
He leaned heavily on a breaking crutch because it's all he's ever known to do.
The crutch broke and so did he.
He never got up, he never stood on his own.
Instead he's just a baby bird who never left the nest.
The greater sadness to this whole mess is that the cycle doesn't end
he's created his own niche under his baby's arm now.
She leans on him; she'll lean until he breaks.
We are meant to leave home. We are meant to fly.
We are meant to learn and lose and love, but with a multitude of people; not just one.
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