Hereditary fears

His face is twisted,

mouth contorted,

demons dancing ring-a-roses round his head

Brow creased,

ears filled with voices

jibing, teasing, criticising

telling him he’ll never come to any good

What must they all be thinking now?

That he never would have made it

were it not for them?

But he's the one who pays the price

Alone among his thoughts,

burned by his tormentors,

belittled now, as then, and for all time

No purchase in the present,

a prisoner of the past,

trying, oh so hard, to build his edifice on quicksand

The old-school-tie sports a tidy Windsor-knot,

tightened lips withhold their hidden truths,

but listen to his soul speaking through his eyes

Oh, those damned eyes

This may not be the verse,

or even its pale shadow,

but hearken to the demons dancing round your head

We’re all fucked-up,

consumed by our hereditary fears