Snowdrifts as Rainfalls

by Michael Tillery
(Philadelphia, Pennsylvania )

Kind to my mind; never cold to my soul, your love is a needed peace in these diseased days willfully appeased.

Where is the courage? When is the denouement? Where are the simple crumbs deep of joy?

Clocks stop, then streak to midnight, and stop fast again.

Huh?

Where is the sun?

Manchester rain; Philly snow, this peace of creativity just seems to be soul so fleeced.

Movement of mindful molasses; minds anxiously race, then pace, Pace, PACE.

A midsummer so far; a winter fear so loudly near.

Will the next moment be, or will it no longer we see?

Blind is what is happy.

Be still that sad shit.

It’s a bad shit.

A laughing enemy glad shit.

Let them have it.

It’s their sanity to starve in it.

Our insanity to waddle in it.

So it’s time for us to just get out of it.

Ahh, finally a sunrise...

Creative so true; it’s a trust in you; a must in you; a YOU to must trust.

A tempered drift snowing away the forever rain.

The words whimper within as if they’re a sin to get out.

Love them out.

Don’t check out.

Never sell them out.

They’re frustrated diamonds of old blah coal wanting to get out.

The world is our angst.

Our sane pain.

Yet also our most fortunate gain.

Race, minds race.

Grace the opportunity mired in uncertainty.

It’s where we be.

So, run to fulfillment.

Run to the once burning eyes wide of ambitious passion.

No fear.

There is no other result.

Happiness is wild inside us.

Fall into the right clear sight of us.

The what got us here in the first place us.

finish, Finish, FINISH.

This place needs us not unblemished, but so galvanized through the bitterness we are a menace.

Be our own penance.

Our own acceptance.

Or nothing will become us.

Just, trust.

Flex.

Be our best because our best is always next.

Commence.

Never suppress.

Exhale and invest.

Our crest dressed blessed.

So what if they jest.