One day bleeds
into the next
Leaves wounds
that won’t heal
measures our moments
into finite statements
that knit the hours
into a tapestry of tedium
Where is the joy
I was promised?
Where
the lively waltz?
I grieve before every hour
and bend before fate’s great weight
tremble incessantly
and starve in the midst of plenty
Yet I hold my head up
march on
determined to reach that far shore
where fate will take us
and luck will leave us.