How can I write ephemera
when I am steeped in first person "I."
Unable to see in front of me,
the reasons for this long divide.
I try to express in unrhymed lines
for they say free verse, "Sets you free."
Yet here I sit, trapped in tragedy,
which only a melody can see.
Kinships are fleeting, betraying eyes
that flash and are gone in a thrice.
And all that remains is the memory
and with that I am left to suffice.
So speak not to me of convivial dreams
with its errant hopes that fade.
Remind me not what's beyond my control,
nor to the failures I've made.
Friendships are bought on all that I'm not;
it's a claim that soon reconciles.
So allow me this space to exit with grace,
though these words won't bring you a smile.
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