the one thing

the spiral of pain
i think of it as being
too turned around to realize
must halt and stop and fix
before going onward
can be anything but more spirals

the depths that are open
for exploration
yet can’t see straight to save your life
long days of stiff upper lip
left me
considering the opposite

moons and suns
existence observing only itself
what kind of news these days?
it is only horror
and worry over balls in motion
paths relative
only if you are standing still
and what is still?

place my hands together to pray
and hands feel foreign
it is only summer, after all
winter you can say it will thaw, soon
but heat always feels interminable
a never ending pressure to the skull
the sun carries warmth
that does not tan the skin

a very misunderstood land is what it is
unforgiving and so in need
the ground cries and
makes the soul weep

age and aging
sun so distant
oh it is the skin that only has changed!
life grows weary
yet this particular weary
has been the ever-constant
birth of exasperation

standing still
hands twisted in prayer
i ask one thing

of myself
and the rest
goes to God



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