Being, poetry written by Michael Shea at



written by: Michael Shea



I have walked the path of misbegotten dreams, be they real or imagined; actualized or forgotten.
Living life is day by day, there is no script nor curtain fall at end of play each day.
Critical reviews can hone the act, though internalized meanderings like Denmark fish, lingers a waft of rotten.
This chore of rising each morn to face the trials along the way,
the yolk we bear, the being of you; the sculpting chips away.
Be we must no matter what but be we ever try.
If lost we seek the memories of what made us who we want to want to be, the distant far, far day.
Use our past remembered forks of path that trod darkened leaves which lead to path around that Frosty bend; the mapping of new avenues, the autumnal leaves of many hues.
Give credence to the truth of this, the pain is sharp and ever fresh but time doth alter that which clarifies the dues.
Tis moments when like dotty clarity the truth is there for us to see, the clouds to part and shine upon the things we know to be a self-aggrandized lie.
As time, that salve doth heal the sting and shape the epic tale we tell.
Live and learn, the journey took; the path of tears that never dry.

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