Me, My Dog, and A Ghost

 

Sometimes when you're in a bad place

life becomes a better Hell, you may pick

up your cross and carry it to a mountaintop,

but you'll never pick up your headstone from

your grave. Death’s patient as the sunbeam, no 

chains can hold back the rushing of time. Where

insults breach propriety and inflamed barbs may

constitute threats, you laugh at the circus within. 

Wobbled restraint. My heightened shadow crests

upon the beaten past and the sunlight dims the 

unknown future. Why am I here? Why do I suffer

this malaise? Why do I have original sin?