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At this moment, I feel sane.

Sane comes and goes

Sane collapses like a waterfall

And witnessed by those

Who soak like a sponge

The first blink of an eye in the morning.

Drowning begins,

Oxygen suspends

And now I need a planner to organize my thoughts.




Why are we here?

Structure my life in tabs.

Insert this thought next to rhyme

And reason

Someday I will look back and think,

“what was that all about?”

It has its proper place

Like art sandwiched in a museum

Purchase a ticket, admire from afar

And disengage long enough to consider

What restaurant we will dine at this evening.




When will I be happy?

Disassemble the sputtering engine

Before the greasy wheel drives any further

It’s a vehicle destined for the junkyard

Before it even rolls from the dealership

These legs can’t carry me further

The trunk is too full

And the baggage I stuff into suitcases

Require a helicopter of lofty aspirations

To lift from the ground

And transport me to my next State of emotion.




Who am I, on any given day?


About R. Ward

A husband, father, teacher, and struggling man of God.

One response to “Mercurial

  1. Cyndi ⋅

    Love this babe!
    It has resemblance of a little polunick to me.




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