Acting like it’s summer
when you’re feeling fall
can turn out to be a real bummer,
but, then again,
you might yet have a ball. . .

Keep your head up,
though a pop of fear
and unseen grip of anger deep
flare up
to gush most boldly forth
and ride a flood of grief. . .

But life will still go on,
and you know want to, too–
even when
what waits for you
on each horizon
far and near
is anything but clear,

and you’ve scarcely sung
the dirge you promised
for the life and death of one
who to you
was infinitely dear,

and you still feel the smoothness
where the wrinkles were
on the very whitest pall
you can imagine. . .

you miss the ritual you lacked
that could have sealed for you
more apt
the sad finality,
where instead, you had to settle
for a different kind of pageant. . .

For the modern world
is just what it is–
so disconnected–
though plug-ins be ubiquitous–
and you just want to fly away from it–

But you can never
fly away from loss
or from the mess
that lurks
in your darkest mind’s abyss. . .

So pack it up, sit down
be calm, moderate your frown,
subdue your pout
and strap yourself well in. . .

For the flight
to the next segment of your life
is about
to begin.

This entry was posted in Poetic Musing (Longer Poems) and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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