My twenties were Vesuvian—
white hairs will prove it.
Nightmares profuse.
I braved
the void and the veil,
the rot and the call,
the chain and the break,
the ash and the glass,
the fire and the fang.
This decade: a comedy of casualties;
the coliseum captured me.
Optimism vanishing,
ground atop slabs of calcium.
Grit and rock
mangle, make naught of my strength—it’s been
flicking socks,
grains of sand caught in the crevices
from beaches near forgotten—
ever-present scars,
a mussel in the churn,
a martyr.
The main culprit:
Shame, the cultured.
Supple lunges, twirling cutlass.
Must’ve noticed this double agent
from the brusquely paced steps
of this toxic courtship he choreographed.
By his cunning swordplay,
from comrade to cripple.
This was the proof,
the Judas kiss of brutal truth
that he’s a phantom foe.
Sat beneath his microscope:
a rainbow in the white lies,
I believed his anecdotes.
An ambush from the backside—
all I see is dagger,
opalescent,
convincing me that everything I think is so offensive.
Litanies of heresies,
but gives me no direction—
a co-infection
of broken mental,
lies o’ the devil,
and old distresses.
up until I found the antidote:
connection, gratitude, service.
These three keep me from turning.
I squirreled away learning—
informational greed.
Now I transmute grief—
observational growth:
water to wine.
My mind was a fort—
now a field.
Off the port bow, you’ll see a bright sheen:
my shellborn light gleams—
a lighthouse.
But right now, bless those burdened to tolerate a younger me,
whose hurt gave birth to astonishing recovery!
For light of the world—
had none of the warmth.
but, once, was quite horrible:
just judgy and quarrelsome,
real trouble to porcelain souls
like my own.
Time provoked becoming—
to others—
what was muddled of God to me:
a brother,
a forested cove.
A mother, a milky-hued
confection, a person of living food:
Tricenary pearl.
Now others call me safe.
What a change.
My view of God changed.
He used to be scrupulous—abstract.
Now He seems…
benevolent and practical.
A guy that I can get to know.
The kind of love that friends evoke—
entitlement to shed my shell.
The likeness whom I like to mirror:
companion.
One who
feels with me,
walks with me.
I trip!—
A tear drops for me
from out the eye of the ocean.
He asks if I want the stone gone.
I lift my foot.
I am no longer a servant—now I am working on
moving up from a child to son.
“Heir” is stale. Pass the “joint-“!
Not just His kid,
but:
“that’s my boy.”
I oft avoid the siren call.
Hope and I are off an on
relationship status is
kinda sketchy.
Lately, we’ve been abstinent.
Falling for her used to feel so natural—
ravishing, then ravenous.
Iridescent smile, a salted jewel;
her waters, cool—
restraint is jeopardized.
She leads a fierce tango.
Take her hand—she dips low.
Each spin, a feint so turbulent;
push-pull.
The violent rhythm frightens away all potential partners.
Many find her daunting.
Maybe I’m a prototype.
Maybe I can stomach it.
Quite a bit of work ahead.
Goliaths of the past got me circumspect.
To glide with her:
elastic invertebrate.
the tide, she’ll be my master.
Just flow with it.
The world mine oyster.
Its crucible produced in me
something of great price.
Its only cost: the death of dream-buds
that wrinkled, now choke;
bones, barren hope.
The dresser needs to prune
so gemstone beads can fruit
in lieu of simpler blooms.
Branches ever upward.
I am a myrtle,
awaiting the white blossom shower
like petal snowfall in summer:
tomorrow.