Empty Honey Pot

In the shadows of memory a bitter taste lingers,

Like honey turned sour, a legacy of pointed fingers.

Raised on revenge and a toxic brew of spiteful sweetness,

Generational curses woven with silent and unseen bleakness.

Heritage of darkness and burdens passed down the line,

We were only children while innocence veiled in pain's design.

The pillar to lean on yet also the target to beat,

Her eyes were windows to a soul drowning in defeat.

Our bodies not yet grown but forced to bear the weight,

Of brokenness concealed beneath a mask of cold slate.

Her warmth was a distant echo in the caverns of her heart,

Trapped beneath layers of anguish, eroding and torn apart.

God invoked as the final crutch was her desperate plea,

To validate a life lived in chains so careless and un-free.

Yet salvation eludes, for the child within remains,

Lost in the labyrinth of wounds and enduring life's pains.

Spirit bruised and dark as a legacy was left unhealed,

Unable to offer love and the void remains concealed.

True affection a foreign concept, lost in the fray,

Leaving hearts yearning for what she could and would never convey.

The relief felt when she departed as a testament to the weight,

Of love withheld, of kindness veiled, by this cruel fate.

We all seek support elsewhere, knowing she cannot provide,

The solace and understanding for which we've longed and cried.

Accountability, distant dream, shame left unclaimed,

Genuine apologies lost in a landscape untamed.

True love is a mystery unexplored in her realm,

Leaving behind a legacy of darkness leaving us overwhelmed.

In the quiet of reflection while the echo of her pain resounds,

A tragic tale of unmet needs, silent and profound.

Yet amidst the shadows a glimmer of hope remains,

That through understanding and healing, we may break these cursed chains.

For the wounds of generations run deep but not insurmountable,

In the journey of reconciliation we find the invaluable.

To unearth the buried truths and to confront the clouded past with grace,

To rewrite the narrative and carve a new path to embrace.

In the echoing chambers of history, let wisdom prevail,

As we unravel the threads of sorrow stitch by gentle stitch.

May healing be our beacon and forgiveness our guide,

As we navigate the labyrinth of generational pain, side by side.

-Aubs

04-25-24

Some words on my poem:

In this poem, I confront the complex and painful legacy of abuse that has haunted my family for generations. My grandmother, shaped by her own traumatic past, carried that darkness into her role as a mother and grandmother, passing it down to us. Although I can see the suffering she endured, it deeply hurts that she refuses to acknowledge the pain she caused. She still lives in Tooele but distances herself from the family, only choosing to appear at funerals.

Growing up under the shadow of her unresolved pain, I was forced to bear emotional and physical scars that have marked my life. Her love was distant, hidden beneath layers of anguish, and though she turned to faith, she remains trapped in her trauma, unable to offer the affection and support we desperately needed.

Her continued absence, even in life, serves as a reminder of the emotional distance she maintains. I often write about these painful experiences as a way to heal and overcome the childhood trauma that still resides within me. Each poem is an attempt to scrape out the pain, even if it takes countless words to do so. Through my writing, I hope to find some form of resolution, as she has never offered the closure or understanding I long for.

Despite the sorrow, I hold onto a glimmer of hope. I believe that through understanding and healing, we can break the chains of generational pain. It’s a journey of reconciliation, where we unearth buried truths and confront the past with grace. I want to rewrite this narrative, to create a new path where healing and forgiveness guide us through the labyrinth of our shared history.