Nightmare Poems 17: Spilled Milk

Joy has been my neighbor
Peace, a distant cousin
Living has always been a stranger

Show me purpose
What are the tales of the past, no matter how dreadful
What are the prophecies of the future, no matter how bleak.
Isn’t this too much to bear?
What time is left?
How long is the journey home?

Could I seat and savour the moment?
Will I rest when my sleep?
I know the bus leaves now.
My certainties are doubtful
Here was tumultuous
My choice; my pain

Mercy for my frailties
A do-over plea
Before the bus leaves
Can I stay with my neighbor?
Can my distant cousin spend sometime with me?
Can i love the stranger?

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