Wednesday Truth

Here’s a sort of Wednesday truth
That love is not a carry-on
To shove under the seat when we
Are slightly inconvenienced

Here’s a sort of denouement
To what is sensed when we’re alone
That much we do’s just fiddling
With labeling and sequence

For sadness comes like rain on glass
We see it and we feel its bite
Just one more thing past our control
Beyond our comprehension

The calendar’s a type of vise
That squeezes on and presses us
When what we want is living space
And not an intervention

So here’s a pot of Wednesday truth
To stir until its serving time
That life’s indifferent to our woes
And memory’s a liar

Who picks his spots to tell the truth
But has us give the day away
When we could use it for ourselves
And be a presence-buyer…

I stand upon the lonely stair
And hear you breathing breathing still
Although you’re gone you’re gone away
You never left my heart or will

You never left my world at all
Just this external prison here
And though time has her rituals
I see past those and feel you near

For you’re inside my very cells
A generation generates
Heredity environment
Is us our lives our loves our fates

And like a hint of Wednesday truth
We taste it slow and savor strong
The knowledge of our weakness in
A current broad and fast and long

A river flowing there outside
The window through which falling rain
Comes pouring in the open mind
To mix with fear and hope and pain

But this is you and this is me
A vibrancy a harmony
At once an aged newborn youth
Who Wednesday dines on whim

And truth

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

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