What to do with a 15 year old…18 pound, Cat

I sit at a keyboard with no letters.

I light a cigarette.

I stare at the venomous screen.

So much to say.

So little pushes through.

So far, I am in the…in-between.

Strong as my back is…built upon years of slaying dragons and their flies.

Far as my gaze can reach…daytime bats, the blue-jays, frolic and distort all that I wish to see.

And, of course, the pitter-patter of a fifteen year old, eighteen pound cat, he knows exactly where my mind is at.

He taunts me like a catholic mother.

Guilt ridden, I am side tracked…insight, will never just hover.

What a show to behold!

Therefore, I always embrace it.

For it is with certainty, recollections will fade…imagery will be less bold.

Forgiveness…a self portrait

Forgiveness…a self portrait

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Pain had been pestering me, one week. Than as suddenly as he had appeared. He was just as quickly…gone. Near the very end of the last hour of the seventh day, of my self-imposed misery, I happened upon Pain’s B.F.F., Despair. I asked Despair, “Where did Pain go?”

Despair, sadly stoic, stated, “Pain turned into Hate and left town.”

With disgust and envy in my voice, I begrudgingly said,

“That’s a shame. I hadn’t found the time to forgive him yet!”

Forgiveness, you strange beast.

Looming above, awaiting the feast.

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Survivor to trial and tribulation.

Goddess knows of your salvation’s motivation.

Sometimes a different sort of anger precedes and proceeds me.

A branch begotten by the tree.

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That smell.

That aroma, unmasked.

Black licorice in a rusted flask.

Amending or amends.

Pretending or amen.

No forgiving

Know forgiveness.

No intolerance

Know tolerance.

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Why do I procrastinate over the act of forgiveness. When I should be jumping in to it with eyes closed. As though it were a clear mountain stream on a humid summer day.

‘Oh, to be granted amnesty by the hater who once had been hated…the judge who once was judged!’