a Poem
Third time writing you a letter
Getting darker
I’m getting worse
And worse
I had a reason for the writing
But trying to exorcise my demons didn’t work
To try to rid me of the worry and to purge
You out of wonder for the future and the hurt
I wrote a poem
I’m increasingly aware
I’ve been painting things in gray
I’m increasingly alarmed by the pain
I’m increasingly alive
To every cloud up in the sky
I’m increasingly afraid it’s gonna rain
See, lately I’ve
Hated me, for over-playing pain
For always pointing fingers out
At everyone, but who in fact is guilty
And for picking at my scabs
Like they could never break
But they can and they will
And I’ll spill like a leak in the basement
A drunk in the night choir
Just slur all those words
To make deadbeat that
Sweet old refrain
Self-inflicting my pain
And therein lies the real shame
I heard when they were
Picking through the rubble
Finding limbs, they sang hymns
But now what of what I see?
The worry, the wonder
The shortness of days
The replacement for purpose
The things swept away
By the worry, the wonder
My slightness of frame
The replacements for feeling
The casual lay
And the worst of the wildlife
Wears clothes and can pray
And the worry, the wonder
For three meals a day