weight of the world, balanced on weekend’s shoulders

spent a coffee drenched weekend,

tucked inside the belly of the beast-

no friend available to help contend,

or provide indulgent food, at least.

and sometimes words refuse to originate,

from a day that holds a breeze over the ocean.

no- sometimes the pain demands a devotion,

that can bring its witness to the knees-

and whoever said there were any guarantees,

of any sort of grant of ease?


but the battle leaves a warrior in the dust of its dark fight,

and warrior binds wound and heart with a secret, awesome might-

and I held the world inside my hands; that weekend of the beast-

the world was a bruise and a war torn field, and wreck from west to east,

and I heard its howling, like a hunted wolf- often mistaken for the wind-

and believe you me, there’s a willful blindness with which we all have sinned.


and some weekends bear the brunt of us- they cater to our needs,

and some weekends bear the brunt of all,

and those are the ones that supersede,

the dreams and aches of one swollen soul-

no, it’s the entire damn universe that also bleeds,

and awaits in agony and hope for our responding call.


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