Sitting in the circle of confession,
i am unmoved, at inaction,
only minorly involved in the
process of others, an observer
of them and processing me.
God, grant me the serenity, to accept the things
i cannot change,
(people, places, things)
i am quiet and respectful, knowing
that for some this is all they have,
that i am fortunate,
that we never flirted with disaster,
we openly courted it.
the courage to change the things i can,
i hear the voices in the distance,
but i can't connect, my mind
wanders, thinking about prehistoric
jewelry in museum cases, broken
pottery shards unearthed with
great effort from ancient graves.
Were these items symbols of broken
promises? A ring: till death do
us part...a vase: i will carry the
water for you...an arrowhead:
i will protect you. These things
hold a value that words
cannot ever truly convey.
i don't really understand how it works,
the promises i broke were the ones
i made to myself first, all the
others were incidental and yet
so equally destructive...
my track marks have faded with
disuse, but everything that it was
and i wasn't are now forever
tattooed under my skin, something
that is always only mine to
observe and behold, something
terrible and yet darkly beautiful.
and the wisdom to know the difference.
i empathize with the lost, but
i do not share.
They would understand, but as
they learn more
i comprehend less,
and i know where that road leads.
So i remember when i should
be listening, and i will keep
what i have earned.
*Just for today.
"It works if you work it so keep coming back..." --the unofficial end of the Serenity Prayer
and if not: "Fake it 'till you make it."