"Sorry for your luck," wheezed Gaia,
"But I'm long overdue for a breather."

Good people pray for you.
Lend you a hand.
Attest for you.

Bad people prey on you.
Lay their paws on you.
Detest you.

It may take time to rise from this nightmare.
It's not something we ate,
Or something forced down our collective throats,
Like Kool-Aide.
Soon, we'll start the real body count,
And when all this ends,
It will begin again,
And the circle is unbroken.

Nero fiddled,
POTUS diddled,
The outcome is the same.
Handbaskets are in flames.
I, said:
Others are to blame.

I have attended non-events.
Stood on the curb,
But no parade marched by.
I have cheered from the bleachers
But no team ran out.
I have entered the Church,
Only to smell the lingering incense.
This time,
I will fill in the empty box
To banish the void.
Humanity is the event.

I would find the rainbow's end
To reclaim lost treasures
That went missing over my many years.

Some, mere sparkle a crow might crave;
Others, minor shadows in Plato's cave.
In some kind of after life,
Will I find my gold penknife?

I lost it on Easter Sunday:
Jake flashed it on John's jacket;
From nape to back bottom *****,
He sliced the new dress coat in half.
My penknife vanished,
Like the invisible mend.

I miss my pubescent chums,
When imagination was all the fun.
But really, we would look askance,
Not actually sure of a come-by-chance.

Youth got lost, slipped off my face;
I got distracted, it got replaced.

Friends and family have gone,
And with them took
Their share of treasures.

Should you, my dears,
Be lost, I will find you,
Everywhere.
In albums, jewelry boxes,
Closets and cushions.
I'll search the last place first.

Don't give up on me. Please.
I'm begging you.
I know that look.
You're shutting down.
I've made promises before,
And I've meant them 100%, every time.
But my faults prevail. I know them well.
So do you. I've promised to get help,
And I did. It failed... I failed...
I failed myself and in so doing,
I've failed you.
But please, don't give up on me.
I know I can change, but I don't know how.
I've tried. I went back to my old prayers,
To professionals, to my innermost self.
I've worked on it so many times,
Alone and with others,
But never with you.
You distanced yourself from my troubles,
Even though you were an intricate part.
You had a stake in this.
You have a stake in this.
Don't give up on me.
You'll see.
I'll be me again, before the troubles.
But what's to become of me,
If you give up on me.
Don't! Please!

The Receptionist's counter is too close to the forever waiting room.
The Nexts are trying their patient penances;
Some seem to read;
Others appear to listen to the television;
There's no dialogue,
Except for the Dr.'s assistant,
And, the Receptionist.
Any conversation would be idle,  and not heard anyway.
They sit on pins, listening for their names.
Super Tuesday held no kryptonite for Super Joe, remarked the talking head.

The Dr. will see you in three years.
I fist pump and spin to leave,
Seeing a blur of corralled, bowed, preoccupied heads.
A frail face lifted up, and smiled for me.
Happy for me.
Truly the best medicine.