Fleeting Epiphanies

She could have been a good woman," The Misfit said, "if it had been someone there to shoot her every minute of her life.

- Flannery O'Connor, A Good Man Is Hard to Find

Busy, muddled up in my mess,

is it a good thing or bad one ?

a question I'm trying to construe

sometimes I know it ain't right,

something else needs my focus too,

I'm reading all the wrong pages,

maybe traversing all wrong stages,

all my fancies, capricious they are,

when I go to sleep  I realize it,

then a new day begins anew with,

fleeting reasons and epiphanies.

Fragmented Heart

The tragedy is not that things are broken. The tragedy is that things are not mended again.
― Alan Paton, Cry, The Beloved Country

 Shattered into pieces one's heart,
Shards dispersed here and there,
  A small issue stretched so long,
Casual comment etched so deep.
Every word averred made it worse
Even felt which was left unspoken.
It is usual for a heart to fall out,
delicately forked object of art it is,
Why not one bothers to pick up pieces,
Mends it all over to make it whole again.

Counting Compromises

Fear is unnatural. Lightning and thunder are unnatural. Pain, death, reality, these are all unnatural. We can't bear these things as they are. We know too much. So we resort to repression, compromise and disguise. This is how we survive the universe. This is the natural language of the species.
― Don DeLillo, White Noise  

Messy things compromises are, all dislike

This bittersweet debris of tangled strings,

Some are arranged out of love and care,

These rioting twins, so complex they’re.

Some are forced upon asthenic hearts,

Too disoriented or districted to refuse,

Are these are ones that needs counting?

Or those which are dealt with reflexively?

Compromises for upgrades, which rests

Raising storms of fears, of far off future

And hushes down, the blues and sets

Straight that rudderless sail in ocean.