The baggage is burdensome.
It weighs me down with anger, guilt, remorse
And “What might have been.”
For years I have struggled,
Trying to survive,
If only for the day,
And, like a stone cast onto the surface of a tranquil pond,
I sink deeper and deeper
Into the morass that I alone have created.
My burden is heavy.
I bear it alone,
Every day,
Every week,
Every month.
I pine for Another
To share my yoke,
That my cares and my fears and my enmity might abate.
Joy and happiness elude me.
A smile is but a distant memory,
Tucked away,
Obscured in the recesses of my mind.
I laugh not.
I weep often.
I search and search
But find myself confused and lost,
Not knowing the object of my desires.
The pearl is hidden,
But not among fairways and greens.
Neither is it found at the bottom of a
Miller Lite,
Or, in the incessant and inane chatter
Emanating from the living room tube.
At times I want to lie down and forsake it all,
To return to my beginning,
When I was just spirit.
My body is weary,
Yet I move on,
One excruciating step at a time,
Hoping that the next step will lead to a brighter tomorrow,
Even if tomorrow lasts but a day.
