I do not like my attitude
Because the more sheltered,
Fragile, aloof, undone, I become,
Shunning the very who
“I am” without answers enough
To continue discourse, going on.
The blanks on the form, incomplete,
My chapters – scattered pages,
Ransacked by a masked bandit,
Spouting platitudes, cruel absurdities,
And a following merciless wind.
I puzzle, is there reason to
Gather the shattered parcels
Beginning again, or static flowing,
Starting over from wherever
This desolate evocation may lead?
Exhaustion holds, reigns, a tyrant,
Denying will, energy to
Accomplish anything more than
Lying hidden under a patchwork
Become the basis of my identity.
No, no one wishes to know anything
Less than living aglow with joy,
Shiny, lately seemly, outfitted
In the precious, finest, able
To overcome, become a winner.
No lodging for suffering through,
Toiling to bail what has sunken,
With trouble, misuse, neglect.
Resurrections are only for long ages
Gone, because no one knows how
Love, the price for raising dead
And dying can be suitably applied,
The parts lost once meant
To play victory, wandered far astray.
Today fades within a moment
Into the garlanded past, yesterday.
© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan