Life’s Redacted Mail


Reflections come in all sizes,
shapes,
be they tenuous,
delicate,
or defying nature,
arisen unknowingly
below skirts of praise,
belts of scorn,
some awakening dervish tears
hidden beneath welts of honor.

Looking-glass-smiles lure.
Mirrored penance suffers.

Forever the mystery unsolved,
passions unbridled,
memories often living,

but for tomorrow's ambush.

All the while…

Right is wrong.
Wrong is right.
Judgment ponders its banks
awash with confusion,
awaiting tomorrow’s tide.

Voices sing lonely effigies
arisen from stitches once closed,
but never healed.

Innocent whispers,
now genuine,
reach from the pods of genetic past,
the larval ingestion for tomorrow's incarnate.

Finally…

Yesterday makes its way back.
Its consciousness of once inert clay,
bone,
flint,
steel,
now clanging the imprisoning bars
whose past spears,
knives,
guns,
and nuclear rods
stand vigil awaiting
the next tomorrow.

All the while…

Life’s redacted mail
awaits the erasure of pain’s blockage,
the acknowledgement,
the unsealing of a renewed envelope,
return address unnecessary.

Reflections are often daunting and then you die,
while others awaiting their time,
ponder and continue to…

well, some just write.