Always the bad cop

Bad Cop
No one wants to grasp the nettle.
No one wants to upset the apple cart.
We fear the tears of those we love
In case it means we’re not liked.
We dance around the subject like
Jesters pretending that all is fine,
When in our hearts we know
What we know, and we know that
What we see isn’t right. And yet,
If we truly loved one another,
And truly sought the best for those
We love then we would know
And live in the truth that
“Faithful are the wounds of a friend”.
But instead we stand by, subtly and
Gently hinting them along the path
Of pain, loss, heartbreak and regret,
Because we want to be the
Good cop and never the bad cop.

I am tired of always being the bad cop.
This kind of loving is too costly.
I lay down my popularity and risk
My friendships because of a deeper love
Which is so safe you can stare into the
Abyss and fear no evil; you can be stung
By the nettles but go beyond to the
Rolling meadows that lie beyond.
I long for more of that love, and for
Stronger passions in those who love me,
So that they would rather break my arm
To save me from a broken heart;
To risk my love by telling me the truth of me
To find that my love for them only grows.

I am tired of being the bad cop, because
It is not I who is the bad cop.


Daffodil in pastels, Van Gogh style


Although she be plucked
From the world she knows,
And yet she be removed
From her nourishing roots,
Yet her splendour remains
In the appreciation of her
Humble beauty and her
Vibrant sunshine yellow
Which persists beyond
The life she knew into the
Life she now knows.

In memory of mum

[simple pastel sketch, Van Gogh style]