It was all too much
To bear for me, staring
Out across the expanse at you,
Supplicating earnestly for more of
Life to share, for more time to
Live, to express freely...
.
And in your
Own offbeat way
Owning another season
Freed from life’s many defects...
.
And what I’d prayed for
Was another chance
For you (perhaps)
At making some sense
Of all that would be pulled,
Eventually, from the wreckage
Of what’d forced you down on the
Edges of life’s fragile looking glass...
.
Being thankful
For the real friendships;
Those few you cuddled in your
Heart when living got serious, or when
You’d reached wits-end alone again,
Somehow confiding in the trustable,
And accepting now that what
You’d always struggled
To believe in was all that made sense...
.
And all you wanted to hear was
A wise voice encouraging you
To walk this way, or that way,
Someone telling you to listen only to those few
Elect who drank from pure streams, and that small voice
Reminding you to give thanks for having not been born in the
Days of antiquity, when people suffering (with the invisible)
Were often left to perish alone on windswept crags...
.
richard lloyd cederberg

The Portrayal Series: Poetiprose insights concerning family and friends. They will also address some of the actors, artists, musicians, and writers I associated with, or worked with, in college, or professionally, in my 20’s 30’s and 40’s. All of these individuals were influential in shaping the man I’ve become.
   richardlloydcederberg.com