Poem for Tuesday
I will not be sad in this world
In passing, this seemed to make sense.
The trials of youth were abetting, we had foreseen the worst yet to come,
The landslide was projected for another fall, another shore, another time
Like a dog on a bone
A thought of disclosure, of closure, of fright, of future The thought needed a way of happening, a mouth, to permeate
The negative will not bleed to the surface, not in this life
The dire prediction will not manifest in the bosom of sanity
The wandering thought will find no home here I will live my days in peace
Prosperity of spirit if not of circumstance
Inflict upon others
My endless litany of thoughts, none the wiser
To the deep well of conflict that looms behind the bat of an eyelid
And the sigh of early autumn I will not be sad in this world
For it won’t have me
I scuttled it about, kicked it around, refused to call it friend,
I only humored it for poetic subversion, for artistic purchase I know beauty
I know God
And so, I can’t know sad.
Not in this life. Not with you.