Uncommonly peculiar, off hinge, off note, off key,
without subtlety or particular aspect,
clawing at the very foundation of its existence,
long hidden in the outreaches of its origins.

Adaptive, deceptive, inching its way along its course,
building into adaptation the byways of its goings,
never discussed in open conversation,
always hushed for its continuation.

The core, the root of the malady, misalignment,
long hidden in the struggles of human mind,
where it escaped so long ago to endure what lied ahead,
able to unburden itself onto others shoulders to carry.

So sure of itself, fostered by conditions,
pampered so pettily by its attendants,
never realizing that its uncommon nature,
would surely be its magnanimous demise.

The wait so close to its ending,
those encompassed in its beginning
nervously preparing for the outcome of its happening,
the process of redemption or damnation to be decided.

Ah, the weight of our forefathers,
so yoked about all our necks,
to reckon our own futures with successes or failures,
on the uneven scale kept standard behind closed doors.


Jade Dane Jaspers