By dean friedman



In the hollow of your arms, snuggled up all safe and warn,

You used to tell me tales of unicorns and kings.

But how could i comprehend all the things you told me then

Of your madness and your struggling?



And my mind would swim in fantasies, like a piece of driftwood in the sea.

I had no touchstone for reality. you were my reality.



Like a dark and unlit room or the far side of the moon,

Your insanity spoke emptiness and fear.

And no matter how i tried, how i questioned and i pried,

I just could not penetrate that thin veneer.



And i know you tried to comfort me, to soothe and reassure me.

But then your strength would always fail and in it's place a silken veil.



Like a dried and wrinkled prune, a deflated toy balloon,

I cam home and found you strewn across the floor.

And as they lay you on your bed i heard you say,

"if i a dead, how come it just keeps on hurting more and more?"



And you left me in the early spring. all they said was, "mommy's resting."

And how was i to know, so young, it wasn't something i had done?



So please try and understand, i will love you as i can.

I do not blame you; you're not guilty.

But still there's no way to describe the relief i finally found

Upon learning it was you, and not me, that was crazy.