Letter From The Front

The incidence of déjà vu increases.
My favorite cinnamon replicated;

now the two nest side by side
in the cupboard. The weatherman

predicts sunny and clear and yet
fog has swallowed the lake.

Two dates with loved ones cancelled.
The insidious hint of death and

destruction tightens my chest.
I’m eating so if my well-

being depends on diet, how
fortuitous food is available still.

Someone is nearing the end
of life and for once I hope

it isn’t me. Finally peeling
back the layers of ignorance

forced by education and language,
the theft of my inheritance, the good

earth raped and pillaged, for sale and
all the money crying in cages of the

one percent–the catchy phrase we call
our masters lately. The propagandized

mind numb to the shadows.
I’m finally open to love, standing

to claim this darkness. Fear-seeped greed
in a media stream aimed at me but

their narrative can’t resonate now.
Being well in the poisoned air

requires this deliberate, delicate
shift in the clear and present danger

of endless war on war,
just a horror story after all

to seize our waking dream.
I choose to sing and bring joy.

Inspired by: Shadow, Fortuitous, Destruction and Well-being.

Published by

Victoria Stuart

I'm a poet, philosopher and inner seeker. A giver, lover and a healer who studies the heart.

One thought on “Letter From The Front”

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