MY CROSS

The Young Old Man With The Dirty Straw Hair

Who Reeks Of Cigarette Smoke, Sadness,

Hard Times, And Bitter Denial -

The Boy Looks Into His Eyes

And Wants To Cry For Him.

The Boy Thinks He Knows What He's Doing

When He Takes The Man

Behind Closed Bedroom Doors,

Strips Him Of Clothing, Defenses And Lies -

Embraces The Man With Kisses That Stroke

His Wounded Self Esteem

In A Moment Of Mutual Healing;

Sexual And Otherwise.

So Unlike

The Shivering Frightened Child

Of Long Ago Yesterdays

Who Quivered And Panted

In Fear And Desire

When Caressed

In The Shadowy Recesses

Of His Goth Queer Beginnings.

The Forgotton Child

Is Reflected And Recognized

In The Straw Haired Man Beneath

The Flailing Of His Remembering Tongue.

The Hatred And Self Loathing

That Buried The Boy

Deep Within Himself

Is Forgiven And Embraced

In That Bed Of Naked Truths

And Hidden Meanings.

-For-

The Friends And Lovers

That Share His Bed...

The Child Resurrected Inside His Head...

The Children That Died

And The Dreams They Still Share...

Remembered Are They...

The Young...

The Afraid -

In The Sorrowful Passion

All His Life He Must Bare.

© JANUARY 10, 2000 By Jason Wright