Were I God, I’d think to define, “win”
When creatures, injured, question lover’s sin
“Do hollow smiles somehow qualify?
Or emptiness so plain behind those eyes?”
“A hardened heart, absent a joy-filled beat
Make clear to me he re-mains incomplete”
“Your love, be sure it lingers on his soul
He dreads the days without you he grows old”
“He tallies daily losing you again
Discarded Darling, You were his sole “win””
(America has a birthday coming up.
I’m never one to want to miss a birthday — but how to offer celebratory wishes, given our current state of disunity?
The child of God in me has the utmost hope that Our Nation will heal and become unified. And, the child of God in me sees, too, that what America is holding right now is an over-rated, wrinkly, old flag.
But, Happy Birthday, America.
I love you.
Photo Credit: Lisa Rosier;
American flag flying aboard the USS Lexington when Japan surrendered in 1945; On display at the National Naval Aviation Museum, Alabama)
Bled out, I still live
And see you direct the dark
And orchestrate sin
I see you tucked away, there in the corner of this epic adventure.
A stowaway undermining, under the guise of love and concern.
I come for inspection, to work, and for respite every couple of days and we lock eyes.
With your back to me, and a mirror before you, I watch you watch me plead hello.
There’s a reason you do not respond to my greetings until the awkwardness becomes too thick to ignore me anymore.
You’re stealing and hoarding and leveraging me and what’s mine.
The awesome view from on high.
The space I’ve created to just be.
The aura I emit.
My ample supply of lust and cinnamon breakfast cereal.
My apathy in attending properly to it all.
Until yesterday, when the doorman warned me, so gracefully, you must go.
More precisely that I must say to you.
When you’re here, you’re not yourself, thus this means it’s time.
The Welcome sign at my doorstep you’ve taken far too far, my friend….
It was never meant for you, you know, I see.
Sin and God told me.
First, -wait, first- I told her,
Before we may take the obligatory walk,
During which you don a yoke, and then become free,
And I don a wintry coat with tundra boots, and am forced to reflect upon my sin,
I must self-destruct
I swear the squirrel
Said make no sound
And followed her own advice
Having the choice
Of shade or sun
Opted for lowly and nice
Still she travelled
And got where she hoped to be
I own peanuts
I’ll share with her
Since she shares wisdom with me
In the green, green grass
Where we all wish to be
A smiling, warm shoulder
Honest and timeless
The snare of sin
And proper loneliness thereafter
Wait. That’s just me
The road’s camber
And beat-down flip-flop wearers
That seem to correspond….
The wish I have to cry
And others’ downturned eyes
So much talk and so many voices
Weighing down and weighing in
But still unanswered to my mind
How many light years and lifetimes
Given how alike and unlike our hearts
Are you from touching me