You know?
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMM...)
Where she dissociates cuz it's trendy, frail
As all the jargon, tis my way fr'intents
Of life, erasure what half startles sense,
Yet what I never know til later's trail
Shows blanks in lieu of ev'ry last detail
We thought to mull once time gives space, til whence
Is those odd moments others laugh, defense
Flown where thet fancy term is what'd avail.
Cite off examples through the years; the blur
Which follows those intense spells lists off too
Much to add up, until I feel half poor,
Bewildered, left to settle aught I knew
Likeas a child whose mother's GONE. Bestir
Thy mercies, LORD, redeem me: I need You.
28Aug26a
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Author:
Chic George (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: September 10th, 2026 11:41
- Comment from author about the poem: Bet you knew that already, eh?
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 16
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange, Zephyrschild
- In collections: None of Your Beeswax.
Offline)
Comments4
Another good write Chic full of rhyme well said.
Too much for you to cope with alone? I can certainly empathise with anyone who neeeds a God to see them through. Sometimes I wish I could...
It's not something I have any control over. Rather, it's what my body does without my permission.
Could try some rational thought...... Sorry!
Don't worry, I believe you will remain ignorant.
That's a little unkind, but then again I've never claimed to be all knowing...
Take care of yourself.
My friend, this is deeply moving. The missing pieces accumulate until the speaker feels abandoned within her own experience...and that final appeal to God rises from a place beyond explanation. Vulnerable, honest, and powerful work, Missy. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Welcome to my reality.
There’s a damn painful tension here between resentment toward fashionable psychological jargon and the frightening reality of experiences the speaker cannot fully explain, with the missing details leaving him bewildered and diminished. The final turn is the keeper for me—“Likeas a child whose mother's GONE” followed by the plea for the LORD’s mercy strips away the argument and reveals the deeper wound: beneath the confusion is someone frightened by his own gaps in memory and reaching for a source of safety he can trust.
Very aptly written. Missing time is a frightening reality.
Thank you, Thomas, and thank you, Cynthia.
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