A poem
Awkward is
a moment spent waiting
for brilliance to dawn and save the day.
It seldom does, but we muddle along.
Singing off key
but enthusiastically
by ourselves
in cars, alone.
Dreaming wistfully
and endlessly
for all the things we feel we need,
whither they will come?
There’s always the Lotto.
Hoping quietly
at times forcefully
to wrought a life
worthy of our dreams.
It may be done.
Awkward is
a moment of silence
before a woman who
with a single smile
changes the rhythm of our hearts
We struggle to be adept
to test the waters that rage
to alight on lands, we’re fearful of
and shake the doldrums
like dust from a rug.
We are awkward.
We stammer with words
sharp edged and cutting as they leave us,
bleeding we still fight to be heard.
Things appear closer
than they are in Life. Yet
we measure the time it takes
to overcome us, waiting to be
awkward again.
Awkward and alive.
