February
On this horrible February day the sky is brightly shining.
And the cold on my face makes the heart in my chest freeze a little more tightly.
I am weary no more; for I die tonight you see.
Trapped in my head, I release that which has long been dead: hopes, prayers, faith and such.
Yes! These must surely go.
Replaced simply with: logic, discipline, and ambition.
Yes, this dying is not so bad, not so bad indeed.

Foolish, foolish me, how blind I was to believe that love could see.
No more mystic dreams or freaky fantasies.
No more empty truths of this and that, or that and this, negotiations are over; the case is closed.
I feel life from this death.
Different and cold; I’ve all but sold my soul.
Contemptness in my correctness; this phoenix shall eat with kings, and lay with princesses.
No resentment. No regret. No more hanging on by that last little thread.
Fear has left, but the numbness remains.

Apathy; there you are.

So, as my eyes close in this horrible time, I leave you with a blissful tomorrow with all of its shine.

Copyright by Frank B. Johnson