It's Not Fun Any More.
It isn't any fun to come home anymore. Outstretched hands holding you tight, tiny voices squealing with delight. My grin hides the hate from my blackened soul. The anger burns with a white flame deep within my brain. It isn't fun to come home anymore. Their laughter once loud has mellowed with time. Do they feel the hate? Do they have the white fire burning within them? The grin now is missing, just a cold, icy stare, not yet spoken, just hate fills the air. It isn't fun to come home anymore. Their morning songs are missing. It is solemn and quiet. Another sleepless night of words only in anger. Do you suppose they may hear? Bright sun through the windows dulled by the sight of my brain. It isn't fun to come home anymore. Outside they sit shaken, words tossed to their ears. You seethe in anger, yet fear the words of hate. You swallow the bile, you put on a smile, for who and why. Your stomach returns all its food; the hate has now blackened your most inner soul. It isn't fun to come home anymore. The rushing hugs once received have retreated to their rooms; no food can be eaten in peace. No words can be spoken behind the false grin. As you churn, as you burn and rush up the stairs, your vomit it spews as if it was the hate in the air. It isn't fun to come home anymore. You reach once more, somewhere no one else can go, you examine each word, each thought and each deed way deep and inside. Then come the excuses, then come your own cries. You don't even hear their cries; it's as if only you exist anymore. It isn't fun to come home anymore. Their retreat much more visible, they don't buy your smiling lies. The white heat of hate burns the last strand of your heart, it grows cold. I hide in the fields, my bile flows free and I can only cry. It isn't fun to come home anymore. You arrive once again, the days just a blur. A warm little finger reaches for yours. A smile, a tear, you hear today as it says it isn't fun to be here anymore. The little fingers have spark and it burns deep into your heart. You wipe away the tears as your own cools your white flame. You mutter in anger then scream it in pain. It's not fun calling this home anymore. The white heat is cooled some sanity returns as the last of your bile spews across the kitchen floor. Suddenly it's clear, suddenly no doubt, why hadn't I seen it's not just my fault. You scream now in anger as your soul reignites, I don't need this home anymore. I don't need this fun anymore. Suddenly you see them hiding away, suddenly you hear their cries in the dark, suddenly you see, then it's all clear, it's just not fun coming home anymore. This I'll take, this I'll leave as you load up a van, no I don't want that anymore. Your heart begins racing, their hand deep within yours. You see their hearts breaking, even you are unsure. But one thing that is clear its going to be fun not having a home anymore. You're loaded and ready no tears anymore, the pain has gone by, no it is just hid inside. You try telling jokes as the miles start to go by, but they fall silent. Little hearts too broken to smile. You know that it's right, it must be, it's done. All at once you shout out "Hey guys this is fun not having a home anymore." Soon more miles roll by, a little song breaks out. Some stories are told. A laugh is had. Soon all are laughing that good laugh. More miles roll by and the first meal stays down. This is when you know it's a lot of fun not having a home anymore. Their hearts have stopped breaking, it's amazing to see; yet deep inside you sense nothing but pain. As the boxes unload in your first new home away, nothing but laughter echoes off the walls, old memories unpacked, old silence prevails, you can't help but wonder will it ever be fun to come home anymore. Little hands have somehow grown, how was it done through this pain. The grins are for real as your blackened soul begins to fade. You lay at night and listen, still hearing cries in the night. Damp pillows, swollen eyes in the morning, they are beginning to heal, will you? You wake with the moon shining bright, no bile tonight, no white searing pain. Your tears burn your face as your soul slips back inside. But this still isn't fun coming home anymore. No more damp pillows, fresh faces each day, real laughter echoes replacing the rage. Warm hands reach for yours untold jokes are now told, stories of each day shared. In so many ways little bodies big minds. Did I make them grow too soon? It's starting to be fun to come home once more. More walls start to crumble with each tear that has fallen; more joy can be felt without any icy stares. One day while in laughter, right out of the blue, someone says a kind word, a warm smile or two. Somewhere deep inside a new wrestling is felt, is heard. Yes this is fun coming home once more. As words turn to sentences, more smiles that are real, no more bright burning flame killing the spring days bright. Soon you suddenly realize what each day used to bring. New laughter erupts as she walks in the room, why do they tease me so; it sure seems like fun coming home once more. The tears and the hiding replaced by giggles of laughter, they wait by the door, warm hugs, welcoming kisses. They sense changes happening; they sense your new joy. It is almost fun coming home once more. They aren't hidden in fear, they aren't packing just knowing anger, lots of songs lots of singing miles roll by once more. The house we had for healing falls miles behind, no silent miles. We sing with a roar. She's so pretty; she's so fun. Will she welcome us too? Fear returns with faded memories, broken hearts that had been restored, silence returns as pain echoes within. Nothing spoken, nothing said each within their own. I can only wonder will it be fun to come home once more? Unpacking again old memories now faded. New friendships to make, new adventures to explore voices that echo deep into the night. Each learning another. All thought it would be so easy, coming to a fun house once more. New rules to be broken new rules to be made, the baby who once was isn't anymore, the oldest no longer the one once in charge. Each day new decisions, each day bringing more. Heart's bright and beating no tear stained pillows. Oh this seems like fun coming home once more. Old memories whose soul remains blackened. Old pain once again because the white flame remains, resteps, reconnects, hearts broken again. Yet this time the white flame doesn't reach into their soul. Another it seems holds their hearts. Out of danger, free of pain it is really beginning to be fun coming home once more. More words said in anger, more hate is exchanged, yet somehow the white flame is not rekindled. It's just not the same. The new pink soul laughs and yet cries just the same. Deep inside little thoughts, little deeds, and lots more, the fear relaxes. The shame now is faded I can't believe it's getting fun to come home once more. Stolen kisses, gentle touches, loving stares, tender moments are shared. They all laugh in new friendship. It's quite a chore taking what was three and doubling at the door. They giggle and laugh as they catch you kissing. This is turning out to be fun coming home once more. New fingers start reaching out, little minds begin to explore, laughing and yes fighting and kissing. Oh my, is this a family once more? Little candles they light, the old crystal they have shined, it's not just a card table, it's a whole lot more. Echoes of laughter as you dance across the floor. The meals are all shared, not all of them in joy, but it's not the same pain that cause the retreat as before. Then new understanding of each one's different ways and it is as if there is finally freedom to laugh and enjoy. The tears aren't from retreated pain, from unsaid dreams, from unspoken fears, from somewhere deep inside. It's really beginning to be fun coming home once more. In each step we take in each breath that is shared, each and every one is changing as six become one. In each home there is pain, in each home there is sorrow, in each home there is love, in each there is laughter. Which one is the brightest determines the flame. Be it the white heat of hate, or the glowing embers of love, understanding this love, understanding past pain, just understanding that love outshines them all. Sharing their thoughts with another, tenderly watching them sleep, hands growing warm with new tender touches, laughter and singing once again fill the air. I know they feel it they have told me so, I know just how true it is when they speak, "It is fun coming home" again |
