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Feeling Old and Lost

I noticed just yesterday
while glowering about something else
now already
once again
forgotten…

I seem to have lost my good-sensed humor
along my stumbling
isolating internal say

Toward this red STOP! sign
searching for a different way

To find a new Earth center
for healing active hope,

To sing new scales of joyful
sad sharp focus

Performed more locally
and possibly reformed less reflectively
mesmerized by fame’s monopolistic grope.

This new reselective time
Less silently reserved
Less anxiously depressed
Less repressively suppressed.

Each morning’s dawn warning
to worship at new altars

Renewing robust octaves of communion
encompassing organic green nutrition

To redesign all creatures here below
more positive above
good-humored love
with timeless passions
hilariously sensed together
yet tragically shoved
apart.

If I were not so sweet sixteen
prepared to restart home’s immigration scene
again for my first time,
what would I rechoose to do
becoming compassion’s singing rally
with rainbow hearted allies?

If I were thirty-three,
my age of messianic crossfire
for all to red angry
horrifying see,
what would I choose to resurrect again?

And why would this revoiced
rechoiced healthier community
support potentiating integrity
with more robust good humor
this well-timed passed over
and back around
on sacred wellbeing ground?

If I were twice
my god’s reflective age
revived,
what would we joyously choose
to re-member
as half-life good golden sense
for revolving salvation’s humor?

For this tragic comedy
of tumorous migration
anxiously anticipating
integrity’s full ZeroScores
restoring just right species

All together one predation
praying for exterior relations
more integral summations
than humorless,
silent rumorless
quiet aging absence
of eternal sad-paced mercy,

At least sufficient for noticing,
just yesteryear
while glowering about something else
now already strange sadly queer,
once again forgotten.

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