These Are My JOTtings, Part #2

Fears Are Absent Joys

The child sits cow'ring in his room.
The clothes are silent comforters.
The dark his fortress or his tomb.
The monster's dress reeks fruity stench.

These days long past for grown man, numb
bring tears to his eyes for what he would.
A tender Mom in part and sum
would joy in his strong confidence.

Some fathers speak burnt, wrathful words
invoking God's will when it's theirs.
The joy of childhood flees as birds
when hope of peace is seldom near.

"A Dad, who sees me, whole I'd be,"
the thought I held in pictured words.
"He'd lift me up and make me free"
with everlasting, living hope.

The fears of this month's brutish games
are laughable in childhood's light.
'Mid all the ghouls and boos, whose aims
are just to take home candy corn.

Faux slivers cover concrete path
to frighten children hunting treats,
but emotional eggshells form the bath
of truest terror through small souls.

Enjoy your lightweight, "funny" fears,
until full sugar coma dreams
give way to ridicule of peers,
who smirk at your askew face-paint mess.

What joy remains to a child, who tries
to keep his mother's happy mood?
What fears without can gain the prize
of a child, whose mother threatens him?

An old man sits in his closet space
to seek some peace from these bygone days.
White Christmas lights his saving grace.
The tomb protector holds her fast.

The fears of ten months is the Why
he cherishes soft Christmas tunes
throughout the year for in days gone by
the Christmas season brought him peace.

by Jay O'Toole
on October 8th, 2019