So here we are,

in the dying time.

A little roughed up,

but then again,

our limbs are whole.

Our hearts are, too,

if only a little battered.

So, we’re going again?

Another round

on the wheel of time.


I took a break.

I admit,

it was ill advised.

There was so much going on,

I thought I’d make concessions.

Never again;

I’d rather stain my walls

with each transgression

than go down

in supplication

like a whipped child.


September is the cross-over.

The real New Year.

You don’t spend so many years

starting over in the fall

and not feel

with the turning of the leaves

that it is time for new clothes

and the end of pointless leisure.


So let me get right down to it;

I’ve been standing at the doorway

for a long time.

I’ve lingered in this alcove,

like an unwanted shadow,

peering through the keyhole,

like a perverted echo.

Stealing little glimpses

of my heart’s desire,

but no more.


It’s time I put my hand upon the doorknob,

turn it and step through,

and knowing for certain,

that there will be no going back,

for once you step

beyond the threshold,

you have made a choice;



The time comes

with the turning of the seasons.

With the shift in wind

from South,

to Northern bitter.

Nothing makes me smile,

like watching winter come,

for if I am to be reborn,

I’ll have to die.

A thousand deaths are fine,

to get it right just once.

God Bless the resurrected.



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