How dear is my present to me!

Even as it stands imperfect

And flawed

 

I know it. It’s familiar.

I’m drawn to it because it so effortlessly

Becomes mine

 

My present is the culmination

Of the hours, days and years I’ve devoted to

Become me.

 

If I lose it, I will lose all the vanities

That I had with great complexity interwoven with

My being

 

I will stand a ridiculous lie unto myself!

 

My heart will weep not so much

For the loss of people, places, property

Or poetry

 

But for standing disrobed and diminished

Before all that I dressed up

And decorated.

 

The present is rich in the meanings of thoughts

Whose enslavement I have come

To enjoy.

 

Who am I without them?

WHERE am I without them? They’re all

I’ve known.

 

My tormentors have been my only love…

 

And even though I know

That life is a habitually

Late messiah

 

A sleeping savior in a dream state

I can see now that I’m nothing more than

Its dream.