This is something I scribbled down on night in the spring of 1985, shortly before college spring break. That year would turn out to be the single worst in my entire life to date. Just about everything went wrong. It was already starting to go wrong when I wrote this. I was failing academically; trouble with a stupid fraternity; problems with my parents; and a dog in faltering health. For me, the only good thing about 1985 was that it ended.
Almost midnight as the clock digitals glimmer,
And my arm has ceased to quiver.
Stopped for this moment to scribe this passage.
I want to relay a beleaguered message.
This day has run the gamut of my emotions.
They’ve slipped from private moments of joy,
To contained anger like silk lotion.
I feel a perverse love of this mixed décor.
It’s a delighted passion of my own soulful heart.
A concert of charms and spirits.
I grope in the dark amidst wrongs and rights.
Wondering if I serve purpose on this Earth.
Thinking my impact may be a single laugh.
Tired.
Hungry.
Eyes pleading for justice.
I overreact?
Underestimate?
This is the kill holding my fate.
Image: Christine Deschamps
Chief Writing Wolf 