I wish my life was like a poem
then I would be beautiful.
I would have rhythm, cadence, imagery;
my rhymes they would be plentiful.
I would have stanzas of separation,
my life would be in order.
They would build upon each other
from beginning to end –– clear borders.
Someone would have infused emotion,
clear meaning to my words;
something mysteriously discernible
the lack of which does hurt.
Instead I‘m just a jumble of
unnecessary words and phrases.
No clear anything at all,
No future meaning to the ages.