An Anvil that Never Lands

dc fade

cherub years came, as
brother’s, sisters comfortably
into their adult lives
sure somewhere there
my father too, further still
mother
friends, some
looking back, my soul
held no sanctuary
excepting reclusively in
my room, yard, travels
far off on my bike
adolescence held no
greater exuberance with
or without company, only
a longing/spurning of
the opposite sex
bringing harrowing storms, gloom, I’d
not weathered previously
blew me into corners
away from school’s maelstrom
when I could avoid it
yet dragged into participating
unable to adapt, reshape, retool
to religiosity, cliques, there I
oblivious to my truth
told, thought, believed
worthlessness, imbecilic, graceless
escape off, to strange lands
metropolis of open worlds
antipode to my small town
to higher leaning, still
grappling with myself
beating back moonless hours
often numbing my body, mind
in burly spirits, as
all around me mastered and
moved on

here thirty years subsequent, have
love, friends, craft, still
struggling with, at war with
that enigmatic foe who
keeps a hulking, shouldering fog
not too far distant
ensuring my mood struggles
to find joy in the everyday

photo and poem by DC Lessoway

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