I wrote this one years ago, but the internet gremlins and website migrations have made it hard to find, so here you go.
weather shifts
invitations arrive
decorations appear
joyful, joyful is the call
joy does not always come
and somehow I make it through
memories of loved ones departed brings back grief and heartache
family resentments are added to the hidden pile of sadness and secrets
upkeep of my stylized life becomes a weight of isolation and despair
answers are fleeting
understanding is at my fingertips
joy beckons from a distance
and yet
’tis the season of joy
of heartache
of secrets
of despair
and somehow I make it through
Poetry is not something I do much of, but in sporadic attempts to embrace discomfort in how I express my thoughts about life and the world, I try it.
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