Note after reading "Until I find you" by John Irving.

"In increments both measurable and not, our childhood is stolen from us. Not always in one momentous event, but often in a series of small robberies, which add up to the same loss. "

The truth

The backside of the lie

The shadow of being right

Left is right

Upstairs is below

That turns my soul

Inside out

And nothing is what it seems

Tears roll

Where my heart is supposed to be

Slow and treacly

If the lukewarm blood

Of the last sacrifice

On the altar of truth

A mirror it is

And the reflection suffers

Of the lie being right

And the shadow

It lives in my soul.

Copyright © Arlette Ferber. All rights reserved.