Maybe the destination
Won’t be acceptance after all
Maybe it won’t be calm
Won’t be peace
Won’t be love…
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Maybe the destination
Won’t be acceptance after all
Maybe it won’t be calm
Won’t be peace
Won’t be love…
Stormy skies pound down onto dark shorelines
Anger whips branches and brambles to and fro
Thunder and lighting tear the sky into pieces
Echoing a desperate rage
Found in any lifetime of faulty connections
Dark clouds oppressive with no end in sight
Mix with a melancholy
Only the perpetually lonely can understand…
Finally, a few
Just a few
So little
But enough to find the shame
No matter how many poems
No matter how many tears
No matter how much catharsis
I’m still me
Exactly as I feared the most
November 15, 2024
For now, this place remains
Deep in my dreamscape
A fantasy to indulge…
How is it that the feelings of others
Usually so obscure
Can at times be so much clearer
So much sharper around the edges
Than what’s inside my own core…
Rarely seen under the daytime sun
Appearing from time to time
Collecting energy enough to gleam…
Will I be tempered in the crucible
Of this cutting new awareness,
Maybe even sharpened to a razor’s edge?
Some days I get a little angry.
Some days I get a little rebellious.
I don’t know why.
Some days I get extremely angry,
almost enraged,
and I still don’t know why.
Could somebody please
Do me a simple favour?
Is this really grief for the fantasy now dead,
Or is it regret for seven years tainted
With a lie I told myself?