Scapegoat

Once upon time,

Is the color dreams

Develop on ripening.

My world is concave,

No longer small

But steadily inverting.

I think I would look

Better if I were inside out

Then you’d see

How deep my convictions run.

Perfection is an illusion

Favored in hindsight.

All this wanting, all this looking

And still nothing achieved.

How does one fill a hole

That isn’t there?

I am paper, I absorb

The realities imposed on me,

The contradictions

The fallacies labored

And satisfied at the expense

Of my gravel-ridden soul.

I have no questions for you

Only accusations and even they

Are mostly self-inflicted.

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11 responses to “Scapegoat

  1. I think you have put into words how many of us often feel.
    Yet I do believe we can have many good moments of filling that hole –
    They are the times when nothing else matters except the loved one we are with at the moment – like when my grand-daughter is comfortable enough to fall asleep in my lap. 🙂

    I too have had many weird dreams. Just last night I had a dream of being pulled through layers of time to be with someone, just to become separated from them. Mostly strangers though, so I’m thinking it was news related. Too much separation of families by current warring all over the world.

    • You make a great point here, there are many good ways to fill those holes. How precious is that! I remember once I fell asleep on my lawn and when I woke up there were dachshund puppies sleeping on my back. I had never met the puppies before but the mom visited sometimes, they were the neighbor’s dogs, the mom dachshund had come over to show them off to me they were so precious and adorable. That is unsettling.

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