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Lullaby in Blues
“Some day we’ll all be gone, but lullabies go
on and on.”--Billy Joel.
Good night, my angel, Billy sang,
even though the villains did not hang,
and many of the punks joined the gang,
and the comic book guns said bang.
I heard it first
on the anniversary of my mother’s death,
recalling I never heard my son’s first breath,
as my actual daughter refused my parentage,
and my actual father remained a ghost,
calling my name on midnight’s tongue.
I never heard them.
I never wrote them, or sang them,
those damn ditties comprised
of divers strings;
wailing violins and throbbing cellos,
all bowing that one sustained chord
that always makes me,
allows me to weep;
because of the promises
I couldn’t keep,
failing those challenges
that were too steep,
as my shredded pride
lies in a heap,
since what’s terribly broken
runs so deep,
so like a child,
to muffle it all
as I sleep.
Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub