And this Tuesday follows in procession,
a willo’-the-wisp reminder of wonders
long since abandoned at a proverbial
fork in the road, lost after following
one too many sets of bad directions.
So now joy becomes a halo, my coronation.
That sentiment I own and so am owned,
fulfilled wholly and to the point
of bursting with quixotic glee.
This, too, shall pass…but until
that time I wear my smile proudly—
a testament to genuine happiness—
and unclothe myself of every vestment
of doubt, that heavy ever-present burden.
I am naked, one, a phoenix rising.
Touch my face and know these things
for truth; take them upon yourself
as a healing gift shedding from my skin
in feathers of shining, golden bliss.
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