Armchair Zen

Wilderness Road

Several lives ago,

drenched in myself,

wrapped in myself like an onion,

I followed the dark clouds,

And built a life on lies.

Lies are not sustainable,

and the construct collapsed

in on me

and those I love.

When the clouds cleared,

I was naked before the universe,

dowsed in sin.

Shamed.

This would be my drive

for thirty years

to sponge away this mark,

These stains,

the scar.

Time passes and

three lives later

I am not

The Same Man.

Those born since

and those walking alongside

and those that “know me”

do not know

or may not remember.

But from behind these eyes

there is hardly ever a day

I don’t look out through

stains and scars,

shading my vision.

You look and see me.

As I look in the mirror

I may as well have

a red “L” tattooed

on my forehead.

Someday, when I die,

there may be those that do not know,

and there may be some who will cry.

Sweet ones, do not cry.

The world has not lost,

but has expunged

The Liar.

Seek peace,

Paz