Compromise
right into the ground.
Angle to the sky
consort with better angels.
The struggle in the mind
makes the flesh weak
and the world want.
There is no Paradise
for the driven.
Hope is discomfort.
Love is losing it all.
The days spent
in quiet contemplation
are all gone.
The clouds finally recede
revealing destiny and shame,
so woefully well equipped
to never get there
and be okay with it.
Finally,
a cold breeze.
A sea change
heralds in the new revolution.
Dirty bomb philosophies
in place of a righteous fire,
but we don’t choose the time,
or the place,
we must be reactive.
Drenched clean.
Absolved.
I bend my head and whisper
prayers to a whiskey bottle
and when I gaze up in the sky,
I am an animal,
just waiting
on evolution
to catch up with me.
Put it aside for now,
those reservations.
Fear has no place now,
pack up your depressions.
I am a simple flame,
a candle in the winter,
easily snuffed out,
but I’m not gone.
No, not yet.
-HG
