Some Days

Are a little harder than others.

Today is one of those days.

Despite painting and having sat outside reading, the overwhelming sense of sadness has infused my being. I have spent a lot of time this evening crying.

About what? Who knows. In my head it could be one of a million things that in this state suddenly become so overblown. From turning 50 to the feeling that I let so many people down.

To feeling like I am just faking my way through things. That in truth I have no idea what I am doing or where I am going. That I am just coasting along without any real purpose until I die.

And while 99.9% of the time I am good, today is the .01% that is kicking my ass.

Tomorrow will resume with my normal cheerful demeanor.

Aug. 14/22

Untitled Poem #15

Laughter stopped.
Childish giggles replaced with whimpered fear.
Calls for help.
Pleading for rescue.
While he did pace.
What were they waiting for?
Black hellish pain
no amount of prayers
no amount of condolences will erase
keening wails
hearts shredded
no way to be repaired
voices still rise
no no we won’t let go
it is our right to carry.
No one is saying take their guns.
No one is denying there are responsible ones.
But…..
What about safety checks?
Background checks?
Taking a gun safety course?
All things easily done.
Why do you need to purchase an assault rifle?
What animal needs shooting with that?
Man.
That animal.
My tears run unchecked
hands raised
feeling pain from afar
so strong
it knocks me to my knees.
Screams heard
felt
through trembling earth;
there is no coming back.
There is no just reward.
There is no way forward
when voices are raised
to protest any safe guards
instead of clamoring to ensure
this bullshit never happens again.
©May 28/22
Picture is my own
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