Again, I believe I want to retire from writing. I don’t intentionally write EXCEPT again a friend said write. Write about why you have lost your passion, your motivation, and why you are bored. And why you don’t know what to do with your septuagenarian moment in life. So, again, I took her advice and this is what I wrote, although, I didn’t allow myself to go deeper. It’s rough draft #2. Maybe I should converse with my friend more often. Maybe writing is just on sabbatical.
THE KINGDOM OF BOR-
Dom. Is a temporary transient sanctuary. I am living
In this location, now. It’s a place to hang my hat,
Kick off my shoes, recycle. It’s a place in my mind
But it is not mindless. Barefoot and hair hanging
Down to my waist the carpet, my yellow brick road,
is my only release
As I walk around tables and chairs, music blasting
Around and around and around and around dizzy
With emotion going no place.
There are no tears. Tears left with auto immune
Symptoms. How dry the eyes, my purpose, and
My motivation.
This Kingdom of Bor-dom is alive with frenzy,
With worry, with blame. You can change.
But I have.
Change is what’s left of who I am and
It is just a handful of copper pennies
Restless, worthless, reminders
Of another time.
The questions keep coming the
Answers not so much. Age is
A mystery. Names and places
And activities haunt me as if
Yesterday could be today
But today is a hole in the
Universe needing me
To fill it
With hope, with kindness,
With love
If only I knew how. If only
Poetry would give me an
Answer not just an observation.
I’m around the bend of another
Cycle, decades are getting shorter
Are blending together the fears
Continue to control me
The King-dom is safe, but it
Is not freedom it’s a holding
Cell, a prison
Be still. Be quiet. Be ready
To escape.
