Oedipus

These eyes of mine are tired from too much life.
Two hollows where my girlish self once dwelled
Have been replaced with sad reminders of
What yesterday insisted I must see.
The hands and hurts and hell of tear-stained children,
The names of those who left but won’t return,
From wars in places I will never journey
Except through news reports of how they died.
And yes I have survived my own sad crossing
As innocence was plucked out and removed
Like Oedipus I stand a bloodied traveler
To close our eyes a comfort we won’t know.