Chosen

Let me be frank
as I punctuate
the ways we choose sides

The games of children
hosey and chisel the hope
from even the brightest spirits

I  am lost.
The last to be remembered.
The last to be asked
about my own life.

I ask someone
to take my hand
in a holy circle
and lead me
to the other side.

Let me be chosen
for something
that means anything
to God.

Endless Winter

The wattle of too much pride
hangs from the wizened experiences
of the winter that wouldn't end.

Even as the warmth and light
wake me into a pinkish flush,
it does no good to try and convince
the mind to let well enough alone
and rest.

I cough into the cave of disbelief
and sigh, exhausted
from the repetition of my mistakes.

Lungs wheeze and contract
with breath that must struggle
and blow like a wind
across the parched prairie
of day after day
of denial.

Lie Like a Fox

I wither
in the heat of this sun,
bound like a poor slave
and unable to steer my way
onto a peaceful path
where cool shadows of ferns
and flowers whisper relief.

The lobe of my ear waits
patiently for patient truth to guide me
toward the light of home.

I am listening for the joy of birds
but there is no rest in the night
for the fox has stirred all the branches
with his rough and hungry mind.