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The unpredictable yaw of rolling seas, as in life pummels us from side to side randomly dictating its capricious ways without logic grips and escapes with our lives Death, like the ghost of Christmas past, comes and expresses a tale of coldness and desolation under the guise of light, the dues it extracts from the living accumulate like wrinkles on our faces the years pile on The uncertainty of pandemics sends people into despair mental frenzy engulfs, people wring their hands and worry what happens if I get sick and lose my income? At night I hear the sound of eighteen wheeler trucks rumbling On the blacktop toward companies that make copious profits past the foothills where coyotes cry nature's lament exacerbating my approach to a precarious and worrisome future Sometimes, I feel like a watermelon cut in half exposed to the desert heat slowly drying up or a taco at Christmas time or a paraplegic in a footrace exposed in those places where I don’t belong Leisure time for the working stiff is so elusive yet now all I’ve got is time and plenty of it, but there’s no leisure in it only worry and does not give me needed rest The yaws of life seldom deviate from its variant course but like ships at sea rising and falling in a tempest our minds proceed at an ambiguous yet dangerous speed With our hearts frozen in a delirium of past disappointments they vanish the happy times into the ether of regrets still we cling to those cherished happy time memories when Life was more accepting of our youthful indiscretions Our Ship of Life moves predictably toward an unknown horizon unsteadily shaking us from side to side, up and down like loose apples bobbing in an ocean with our paths uncertain unfolding as we hold on Copyright © norberto franco cisneros

Copyright © | Year Posted 2020

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