How long I’ve sought to understand 
what can only be experienced,
or to experience what can only be
constructed in the mind:
life and perfection, respectively.

A year spent in isolation, working alone
in a giant building,
coming home to the clamor and chaos
of small children:
lather, rinse, repeat.

Sore, aching, fat,
I wake to energy and optimism,
and go to sleep with resignation
or despair,
popping my diversions as though
they were pills,
looking for a brief shot of oblivion.

Trying to love through
this castle of selfishness I dwell within;
trying to feel loved
lying on the bed of nails
that is self-awareness —
year fifty-nine has had far too much truth
to have quite enough happiness.

And yet breathing:
the inhalation of hope,
the exhalation of resolve;
the inhalation of stillness,
the exhalation of calm;
the breathing in of grief, and
the breathing out of sorrow —

These are the years,
a year, another year,
the undefinable significance
of a life, all our lives,
these beehives we call minds,
these oceans we call hearts

5 thoughts on “MMXXI

  1. I love the slightly chaotic image to match the apt descriptive summation of your year Owen. May you and your family be richly blessed for the remainder of 2021 and may 2022 be a year of contentment and good health.

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