Read Poems by
Two Years Hence
The world isn't fair, the world isn't right,
and I can't control how I'm feeling tonight;
but I can control how I react to the pain,
how I live my life while dealing with the strain.
More than two years down the line from that verse,
the first half yet reads right - like an all too true curse.
The second, however, with each day steadily loses its hold;
as do I, on everything that I once controlled.
Sadness scars, but fades with enough time,
and oft with the healing hands of rhythm and rhyme.
Loss lives, but eventually rears its head less,
like Patches, Brandy, Grandpa, Grandma, Brandon or Jess.
These I can ultimately learn to abide,
taking them with an ever steadier stride.
Remembrance turns from taking you to your knees,
one day into fond memories, honoring such as these.
Yet anger is entirely another story,
one turning never to gain or glory.
At another time, I handled it with care,
and did better at never laying it bare.
Now, it surrounds me at every turn,
and ever more for peace I yearn.
I wake to its heavy breathing at my side,
bed down having chiefly failed to turn its tide.
Even the luxury of a hair trigger just isn't there,
for I must simply breathe, to its cruel vestments wear.
It doesn't feel like power, simply rages and drains,
leaving me, weary, to deal with the pains.
Two more years of this inability I must survive;
seems so abysmal, when for simply every day I must strive.
I'll finally know again, with twenty-two summers behind me,
what joy simply being seen as an adult can truly be.