Tempest

In the desire to retire
from writing so to speak
when all comes to fruition
more than calling it a day
rather escaping
from the cosm and
microcosm dichotomy
releasing of the all
aware of distance
silent scorn attention short
discarded thoughts
being pelted at solitary target
with a deluge of abandon
marveling at the flight of
so many fairweather friends
so ready to take and to
receive accolades
self serving banquets
never reciprocating in return
hungry lips devouring
all looking the other way
moving on slow steady
insatiable juggernauts
Consuming everything
secret circles
private lotus
So tired prostate
at the cross roads
giving in to the quandary
despite personal desire
to forge ahead
feigning dead
despite stopping in
my tracks
relinquishing
my trajectory
repeating history
my story
my calling
sidewalk
sprawling
falling
short
deja Vu
sa la vie
whatever will
be will be
I look in the
Mirror
the answer’s
Not
with
Me

(matthew bowers) 93
@2022©