As the body steps back,
as virility and fecundity fail,
I do what I can not to take
for granted the time I have left.
I try not to wallow in excess
or abstinence, try not to wallow at all,
or punish myself for what I
cannot control,
yet cannot say it doesn't matter.
I breathe move breathe move
and exhale against the darkness
with all my might
but it never leaves.
I pray to my god not yours
because that is the point.
Innocence seduces
and scares me. Humiliation
freezes me like a
deer in the headlights.
I seek forgiveness but
only from myself.
This bag of bones and
organs is not what I see
and feel but know others do.
There is an overwhelming grief
for all that was missed,
all that wasn't meant
to be in this lifetime
and never will be--all
that wasn't used and
all that lies dormant.
This is my appreciation.
This is still being here.
This is my passion.
This is my anger.
This is for what arrives.
This is for what hope may be discovered.
This is the last time.
This is the search for what I may never find.
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Joan H.
AZSUE22
Jason M. Wester
KC Morley
Toby Jarman
Judy Berman
Salon.com
Comments
"this is still being here" ---while we are here & even jaded some, there are still magic roads left in wooded places. I bet you'll find some of them before you're done.