Lines that came to his furrowed brow
came with age
and even now
as he wore them well
not one line could tell
the frustration and squinting
that brought it on.
For he kept it to himself
wherever he'd gone.
For how do you tell another soul
how you think
or lose control
when you take a drimk
and you're on the brink
of ruination
and destroying
the fabric of your life?
So he kept it to himself
and kept it from his wife.
For he'd led a double life
for many years,
too much anguish,
too many tears.
But he hid it well.
Not one person could tell.
The discrimination and lying
would never go away.
He lived in the closet
for he was gay.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem