Reservations

Reservations

by Todd Dias

I went to school

with the white trash

and bourgeoisie alike,

scorned by the cool

whose ideals clash

and drive impaling spikes.

My only hope,

turning inwards,

helped to cope,

but pushed me forward

toward the very thing

from which I wished to hide.

I have received love and praise

from four generations,

but all I see

in self-conscious gaze

is a man of reservation.

Fear; the foil to my strengths.

Loneliness; the wall I hide behind.

Love; the wanted and the feared.

Courage; the strength I have inside

Convalescence

Convalescence

For the first time

I stand without words

as they are plucked from my mind

by the critical eye

that is now ever watchful.

I sit now in convalescence

unable to fathom

the gales and storms

that have blown me here.

My unrest has been great

But a turbulent mind

is yet able

to bear the fruit

of its own labour,

and come to rest

in the peace of creation.