Hilltop Echoes
(Elara, 17, observing)
The wind whips words across the green, He sits up there, a silent king, My brother, lost in numbers' pull, Sees patterns when our world feels dull.
He knows the angles of the hawk's descent, But can't decipher why our parents rent Themselves to anger, day and night, And fill our home with endless, hollow fight.
(Daniel, 45, Father)
Consumer this, consumer that! The headlines scream, another empty spat. My gut aches, a premonition's sting, When will they see the rot within, the things We bury deep? The layoffs and the fear, The lost ambitions, whispering in my ear?
(Liam, 20, the 'Idiot-Savant')
I see the fracture lines, the fault, The angles where their anger is assault. Five degrees east, the tilt of Mother's chin When Father speaks of where his money's been.
(Elara)
He sees it all, the broken, tangled thread, The legacy of hurt, the words unsaid. He's trapped inside a mind so bright, He just needs someone to turn on the light.
(Daniel)
He sits above, a silhouette outlined by grief, Mid-life, Manopause, PTSD with relief? From broken dreams, a childhood's hidden scars, My son can see right through my wars.
(Liam)
But you don't listen. You yell & scream I'm already lost in the river stream
(Elara)
But this time, no. Enough is enough. One of us must be stronger, tough. We're falling. I am shouting from below. Let's climb this hill and watch the darkness go