My life is at the tipping point.
Between ethics and my personal truth lies a dilemma
My understanding boils back to my perception only
Nothing is cut and dried, it’s all hanging in the wind.
Sometimes a gentle breeze, other times a gale
I don’t know how to treat life other than on a personal level.
My truth is very sad, harsh hard facts, are mine to deal with.
“The love of my life is gravely sick”.
my instinct says we fight with love and compaction, one day at a time.
priorities dominate, time is finite,
the meaning of life articulated in harsh sobering reality.
Drives my emotions over the cliff edge .
Hope has no flesh and bones,
it’s abstract, yet it’s all that I have to build with
‘in essence’, my personal poetry serves as my sounding board
my self-dialog given wings, to enable me to fly.
Sharing my uniqueness, is a powerful tool,
In helping to deal with my problems
