Wordle#64 and Writing Prompt #110 “Meraki”

Week 64

The sky wells up with mizzle

Or is it only my eyes misting over?

The sun lapses, languishes behind

A column of atomizing clouds

Like spun cartilage and I,

A precursor to the wreckage.

The thunder is in me

A lone door confiscated

By my paramensia,

By my denouement,

By my untenable greed.

I don’t have the right

Attitude for beauty,

The smile, a cue,

A handle for the iris,

For your fascist foot

To silence the recitation

Of my grievances

My sessions sound

Albeit underutilized.

I would recognize

The Devil anywhere

He is my father

My blood, the fecal paint

On my noxious cell.

Had I realized that I would

Meet him again and again

Wearing the faces of others

Posturing as a friend,

A sweetheart, an auxiliary

I would have given up.

Wherever there is hope

There is innocence

And I know despite

What I have known

That good men exist

For I have found

The impossible, the unicorn,

The life-giving cocktail

Love of the highest grade

Love that encourages

Love that instills poetry

In places where the muse

Was not suspected to exist.