Reaching Now

In the morning all the wood I’ve chopped
scattered, splintered, soaked from the water
carried. Wisdom pearls I’ve cast dropped
and trampled, worthless in the slaughter.

There’s no incentive to be free
in this headlong pursuit by greed
digital voices’ endless screed.

I ground myself, simply breathe.
All around the fury seethes.

Why try to renovate
creations mired in hate?

I watch as love blasts
illusory pasts.

I do not know.
I persist, though.

This life pure,
my soul sure

the light
so bright

clear
here.

Written for these prompts: Renovate, Pursuit, Incentive and Free.

Winter’s Song

Is this uncouth child frowning in timeout
because he tried to break my thumb–no lie–
in the mafia? There is little doubt
that he’s two months shy of five–no jive.

My sobriety is begging me–just
one little toke turns this into a joke.
My glow is dimmed. This winter hymn’s a dirge
mourning the bitter dark as shadows surge.

I’m on the verge. Portals emerge. What’s true
is far beyond my view. I sit and stew
until a pause for breath. Celebrate death.
The world’s askew. Release old. Welcome new.

Inspired by: Glow, Mafia, Sobriety and Uncouth.