The year Rose turned sixteen,
I was lost in the haze of my own life,
unaware of the world unfolding around me.
I saw her grow taller, her voice deepen,
but I failed to see the woman she was becoming.

With Daisy, at sixteen,
a whirlwind of energy and passion erupted –
a force of nature I couldn't contain or calm.
I saw her dreams taking flight,
but words of encouragement stuck in my throat.

Laurel, at sixteen,
was a quiet observer, a deep thinker –
intelligence and sensitivity shone bright.
Yet, I struggled to connect on her level,
to speak the language of her gentle heart.

And Lilly, sixteen –
a mirror image of her mother, Maggie's beauty –
reminded me of love I'd once held close.
I saw potential blooming, heart full of pride,
but past regrets silenced my voice.

As years passed, daughters blossomed –
each unique petal unfolding –
I witnessed accomplishments, struggles, and strength.
But pride and love remained unspoken –
hidden beneath fear of emotional reckoning.

Now, as life fades, I confront
missed years, words left unspoken,
love I failed to show – heavy regrets weigh.
Can Maggie and our daughters forgive
the father I should have been, the love I withheld?

To Maggie, My Love
In dying light, my heart sees clearly –
your patience, devotion, and gentle soul.
You nurtured our daughters through my haze,
loved them – and me – without condition.

Forgive my silence, my absent heart –
yours was the love that kept our family whole.
Take care of our girls, and know you were
my forever love – the one I should have held closer.

a chipped porcelain doll
on a velvet swing
(one eye staring blankly
at the chandelier dust)

a whispered promise
in a room full of smoke
and cheap perfume
(a hand clutching a wilted rose)

chalk outlines of angels
on a dance floor sticky
with spilled champagne
(laughter echoing hollowly
like a broken metronome)

a bride in black lace
a groom with eyes like ice
(a ceremony performed
by a marionette priest)

the ***** wheezes a dirge
masquerading as a love song
(a chorus of whispers:
"cut the cake, cut the ties,
cut the cord to reality")

confetti of regrets
falling like ash
on a forgotten dream
(a photograph torn in half,
one piece smoldering)

a masquerade ball
where everyone wears
the same mask of happiness
(a single tear escapes,
tracing a path through the paint)

the clinking of glasses
a symphony of unspoken lies
(a toast to the future,
built on foundations of sand)

a heart-shaped box
filled with broken promises
and moth-eaten memories
(a child's drawing of a sun
hidden beneath the debris)

a silent scream
trapped in a gilded cage
(a bird beating its wings
against the bars of expectation)

a love story rewritten
with ink that bleeds
and words that twist
(a fairytale turned nightmare,
a happily ever after
left on the cutting room floor)

the scent of decay
mingling with the sweetness
of artificial flowers
(a wedding cake left to rot,
a symbol of love gone sour)

a chorus of disapproval
humming beneath the surface
of polite conversation
(a family portrait fractured,
the pieces scattered like leaves)

a single spotlight
illuminating the emptiness
of a hollow victory
(a crown of thorns,
a throne of lies)

a Whisper in the Dark:
"I write sins, not tragedies"
(but the ink stains the soul,
and the tragedies unfold
in the silence that follows).

Finding you is a treasure
It was a difficult measure
You make me happy
I don’t want your money
Only you honey

Chicago alley
fire escape
mournful sax