Dirty Little Secrets

you may sing about the heroes,
the men who roamed the glen,
their names are in our histories
kept alive by our memories,
were it not for men’s longings,
not a song would be sung for women…
those who washed your clothes,
those who kept you fed,
those whose bodies bore you,
those who comforted you,
those who came into your life,
those who’ve gone,
side by side they fought and died
with the heroes of your songs…
but not a name among them
comes to mind tonight,
the autumn sun is sinking low,
pale moon rises over the meadow,
shining on unmarked graves,
these are the places they lay,
those who loved you, hate you most,
that is, if they at all remember
the old mothers’ ghosts.

eternity of endless space,
somewhere out there
someone is wondering
the same things I wonder
at the same moment,
perhaps even looking
at the same star,

we are of the same essence,
we are in the same dream,
fathomless existence
nothingness, everythingness,
dancing our dancing,
beyond speech and silence,
there is another way out.

i know you’re still playing
the same old game,
one more lie on the mountain
of lies you’ve told,
always something
or someone else to blame,
the truth isn’t comforting
when the nights get cold.

why do you always
have to think you’re right?
can’t you admit, once,
you could be wrong?
things are almost never
simply black or white,
and the greys pour down
like rain in this song.

sometimes i think about
the damage you left behind,
how many hearts out there
will never mend?
i was a believer once,
but you’ve changed my mind,
and i’m sure everything
will haunt you in the end.

life goes on.