I was a child, tripping through the hall
I’m in that hall again. Again?
This one has changed faces so many times,
The faces of monsters, the faces of men
The faces of those who begin again,
Hands of those trapped within
My grandfather is a tall man, and dark,
A man of his word, a man of the mark,
A man who stands, tall and regal in the hall,
Guarding our fates; I wonder what he saw?
His eyes are wide and reproachful,
As he ticks off the time on his fingers,
And while we try to hide our lives,
His accusing presence lingers
I wonder if we’ve been good to his memory,
Does the way we lead our lives hurt him?
I’m sure I could have done better,
But, I’m sure I could never hurt him…