Here is a poem from a friend who lives where I spent the first - TopicsExpress

Dru Micn

Here is a poem from a friend who lives where I spent the first year of my life--Brooklyn. I really like this poem; her smile beams right through it. Denise-Marie Fisher Pain without meaning So many books left unread; purchased with good intent, gathering dust as the days pass. Self help, helpless, on the irony shelf. Family I mean to call, to share both disappointment and triumph; irresponsibility reasoned away without humility. Too many papers to file, letters to write, bills to pay, plans to make; and I struggle maintaining any semblance of order. So too do my memories crumble beneath new found uncertainty; my mind stumbles as if every question is a boulder. An aching, aging body begs an unsympathetic mind to please have some mercy. Slow down and understand limitations… Pretending to be wiser I re-orchestrate my life around my failing body, while an adolescent brain pouts and moans. Successes disappearing, failures erode the last of my resolve confidence wanes and newly ingrained doubt overwhelms me. A friend reminds me, wisely, to speak into the universe only what is wanted- as if a self fulfilling prophecy. And so I scream to the walls: “Make me smarter, healthier, younger!” The windows quake, but do not break the spell, the pain, remains. But it seems those dusty books have been disturbed, leaving me to decide what I should do: let things settle- or clean up and read on… ©Denise-Marie Fisher 8.16.2013

Posted on: Sat, 17 Aug 2013 06:59:29 +0000

Here is a poem from a friend who lives where I spent the first - TopicsExpress

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