“Blue Sentence”

One moment I am piping heavy on woes
contemplating murder on words,
something dark and sad
and so unlike me,
the crippled child
festering sick
and obnoxiously
in my belly.
But you flip me once
with a smile
(and a terrible pun)
and then my woes
are doomed, turned quick
to sunshine, flowers and all those
awful, corny, bright-eyed things
that make me remember
I can laugh, I can love
I am not meant
to tolerate life’s bruises
and all it’s battering worries
like misery men
breaking bottles of beer
with sullen musings, spilled, cut loose,
quick, from lonely, sorry mouths:
“Oh drink the bitters! Cheers to life!
You beat me hard, old dog.
I am granite, I am god, I can
love the bruise and beat
and terrible trod
that life socks at me
hard! Hah.”

No, not on your watch.
You are like the period at the
end of every blue
sentence,
one with a smiley face
so imperfectly
inked there
with love.

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Categories: Creative Writing, love, poems, poetry, prose | Tags: , , , , | Leave a comment

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