Days that Never Came

Every time I see a child
I think of days that never came.
A girl pushing her dolly in a pretty pink pram;
Babyccinos in the café;
Tiny footprints in the mud.
The forests, the beaches, the castles, the towns:
There is no escape from days that never came.
Sometimes I would pluck out my eyes,
But how would that help?
I hear them; laughing, crying,
Learning to speak;
The echoes of another voice, a voice unheard,
“Daddy, I love you, kiss it better, it hurts”;
I grieve for days that never came.
It’s not fair; the places I went with you
Are haunted; the places we never went
Filled with ghosts.
So I walk, and I cry, big, fat, ugly tears,
In parks, in cities, they just come, unbidden.
And people look at me and wonder why.
“Mummy, why’s that man crying?”
I wonder where you are,
If you still need me to wipe your eyes,
Soothe your pain; if there is something I can do or give
To make it all okay.
And I wonder if somewhere in this world,
This shell, this echo of what could have been,
You too remember happy days
And mourn for those that never came.
Richard Cain

Published by riccain

Writer, abuse survivor.

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