SHANGRIXLA

I always thought it such a holy feeling

Like a cord that bound us; a chord strummed between us on that sacred scarlet thread

The nights I thought I felt you most– you were giving yourself to another

Today, I think I can feel you..

Things will get better, they must, thrust into being, pleading with your creator, to take you back, and you have always been sensitive, even when you refuse to show it, but a tough heart cannot beat, when gasoline flows through our veins, and the apocalypse is begged for, as the social scientists and pot luck deacons, turn red in the face

I breathed condensation for three years once, though now, just this morning, I noticed the seedlings fighting their way through, do you think they ever find peace? reaching to heaven as they bloom; then wilt? the worms and bees come back, with the resilient question of those blooms, trimmed by your valentine, and the booming thunder, and the rain, and the kids, that run down the street to the lake, where first kisses are had

when you walk, walk with a purpose through bewildered eyes, past the mice in their mazes, and avoid those with definite answers, coveting their hoard, suits never took me anywhere, that self-belief couldn’t, but no one tells a better story, than those who’ve had a night or two with failure, things will get better, they must.

2016 Josh Gaydos