It's been about a year
Of my 63.
Somehow I awoke
To the hell around me.
My naivety dashed
Against the rocks of
Parentless terrorism.
Gazing at the latest tragedy
Or slap against humanity,
I long for beauty past
At 64.
Knowing that it will not come
Except within my own self
Where I have a modicum of control.
I see fields and flowers
And taste the honey
Before waking up.