Life finds a way to change
our interpretation of it
When I was a child
The world was like a circus
Dreams were abundant
And time was non-existent
Days were for playing
From waking until sleeping
But was I sleeping the whole time
Living a dream that wasn’t mine?
My parent’s intentions were good
But my grandparents raised me
All of them caring as they were shown
Living in their own separate realities
Doing the best they could
With their own interpretations
of life

When I was eleven, the circus went away
Death arrived as a messenger
upon a rainy day
Delivering twisted metal
In a crimson envelope
Bloodstains in fine detail
Childhood’s end
No more pretend
History started to repeat
For the messenger comes
in many forms
Taking away the ones we love
With a vengeance draped
in wicked chances
Shattering childhood visions
In a crash of circumstances
Interpretation changes life
Kind words from Sister Mary Hope
How we love and how we fear
Skews our views as something new
But nothing changes if we don’t
Decisions rule the Will and Won’t

Life became so different then
Interpreting the Where and When
The consequence of time and change
Life the nurturer
Life the destroyer
From wonderful to awfully strange
Yet the circus world continues
Without the bright colors of the past
They’re all slightly muted now
And love still never lasts
As all loss is collective
It keeps me introspective
Committing loss to memory
As messengers come and go
But nothing changes for the better
If we only change for the worse
Change is certainly a blessing
But all at once, a curse
Love is still complex
And confusion still arises
It’s all perspective, yes?
For life finds a way to change
our interpretation of it

TM DiSarro

©2023 TM DiSarro / MindScapes Publishing

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