The world is waiting
waiting and watching
watching and wincing
wincing and wounded
The world is weakening
weakening and wilting
wilting and waning
waning and withered
The world is whimpering
whimpering and weeping
weeping and waylaid
waylaid and whipsawed
December 2019
Written: by Miracle Man
12-26-2019
December, for me, is a month of bad memories,
But self worth has survived, once more, course emery’s.
My holidays are depressing not filled with merriness,
Recent past always emerges, overshadowing my cheeriness.
I awakened this morning feeling somewhat whipsawed,
Feeling as if all night, I’d been scratched and clawed.
Like a fighter in training for the next Olympiad,
I Must have had ten dreams and each one was bad.
Though a lot of good things, in December, has occurred,
Jesus’ birth is the only thing that wasn’t blurred.
My mind seems to be dominated by only the bad,
And I can’t recall the last good nights sleep I’ve had.
Hent my heart from wandering concepts of affection.
Recant the murmurs of insecurity that riddled my temple.
Like a slow wound toy awaiting release from a child's grasp and attention.
Toss and birl, whipsawed into the oblivion of life's gamble.
Take away this wretched knife in my side.
A knife that twist with every incantation.
Those bastards! Jackanapes! Stirring in the tides.
Exordium! When I appear to disappear. Insouciance!
This tires me into a gaumless breathing, beating whole.
Furl all I can, these product of fallibility and madcap.
As I breathe deep into a bibelot diamond. The centre of my soul,
I feel the urge to plotz from reminders and blankets.
As I indite a subtle line of assurance. I contrived.
Culling into materials and conversations. I quelled.
Forgoing this disposition. Finally, Peace has arrived.
Retribution in it full essence. Salient though dishevelled.
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