Onset ...

Time is an outraged warrior,
Rising up in righteous anger,
Arm angled back in suspended arc,
Stone-faced club, aimed with singular intent.

And only Truth to shelter from,
With flimsy shield of swirled emotions,
Leaning forward, I receive the blow,
And face the moment with whispered confirmation.

Life has slipped carelessly through my fingers,
As dreams through late morning slumber,
Moments of reflected clarity,
Scattered among blurs of soundless color.

The meaning of me, now described,
With Latin phrases, sung by one,
Who knows, of me, the least of all.

And in the park, where the sun is playing hide and seek,
Through oak tree leaves and drifting clouds,
Where birds are singing and traffic passes with a muted hush,
And the earth has opened itself fully unto early summer,
And the clop of hooves and eager whine of dogs on leash,
And the spinning whir of bikes and blades,
And huffing pant of joggers pass,
I stand at the base of an empty-eyed statue,
Looking up and wondering aloud,
Will it hurt ... the letting go?

My greatest fear, the loss of dignity.

And I pledge to make my own way back,
To bypassed places, left in trail,
For later times and future days,
All will be done to leave no thing undone.

And in the park, when the sun slides dark behind approaching clouds,
Where trees sigh shut fore strengthening winds,
And birds grow silent and traffic stalls with blare of horns,
And the earth lies dull 'tween concrete walls,
And no one rides the pathway, round,
I shrug, at last, into myself, a stranger wearing my own clothes,
A mask reflected in windows passing,
Unwilling to face the pity stare of the me who knows,
To wail and lament, or pour my heart out.
Or some ungodly act as that.

Loneliness is a bitter drug, taken at regular intervals,
In irregular doses. There are people who might care.
But I am not one of them, and not one of them is me.

My dignity, it suffers greatly.

In midnight hours, moments seem the longest times of all,
Shows, unwatched, meals left waiting on my plate,
The sinking realization of how big the world's become,
Now I am so close to leaving it.

And there are calls to make, numbers left half-dialed,
And letters to write, and then not mailed,
And tired, heavy thoughts to wander through,
And leave to drift away, unanswered.

Lethargy has slain my spirit.

One day a face is at my mirrored sink.
It has no relevance to me beyond the looking at,
No recognition of some long lost friend,
A visage in waiting, if there can be such a thing.

It stands its ground, I will not invite it in,
But in it comes, unbidden just the same,
And will not leave my side. My pride.

Tomorrow sees the dishes done. The bed, well made,
And coffee, freshly ground, then brewed.
And omelet rich with cheese and produce,
And morning show turned up so loud the speakers,
Tease me with their reckless abandon.

The job, I lose to yesterday's ambition,
Released, the bills of life's minutia,
Fall to wayside, as plans are made,
For a long and sweet farewell.

A spirited letting go of all that has been.
My greatest joy, the loss of fear.