by David Lee Hereford
My Calendar is a compilation of embellished
truth
For it is the documentation of
deceased ingenuous youth
Hanging silently inspecting, recording
every carnal bliss
Enviously I lust for its honesty,
consistency and strictness
It is a hybrid, for the origins
of its recycled pages are unknown
The result of a conscious driven
society, reaping what is sown
It was at dawn, when I expeditiously arose from a restless
slumber
A rest that was interrupted by
images from this distorted lumber
Staring at black and white
appointments, representing social misdirection
The naked, organic oppression of
a suppressed mental erection
The orgasmic, realistic portrayal
of hope and self righteous dreams
Blood soaked garments covered in
dirt, and torn at the seams
I was cut short of my three
hundred and sixty five days, a total betrayal
A generous portion spent laboring
in an emotional and unforgiving jail
Saturated by many moments of ceiling
watching and reminiscing
Rehearsing apologies, with blistered
lips, words, weak and convincing
Ecstatically, I wash off the
tragedy, abuse and evidence of yesterday
Today I recycle my 2013
experience, and update my spiritual resume
On a clean and virgin page, I wrote the words “Freshness has no smell”
Conquered, defeated rescue, only
comes from drinking from the well
Naïve and believe, upcoming days will not be void of excremental seasons
Nor will I continue to believe
that events happen for “life learning” reasons
In the freshness, and infancy of
this glorious and hopeful majestic
first day
A conqueror, survivor,
child of a strong god who took 365, to find his way
