120 moons
when life can’t get any better
something hits you with
indiscriminate authority
leaving you reeling and rewinding
forcing you to go underground
fast forward and here you stand
garden spade in hand
having dug your way out
over a period of 120 moons
well rested after presumed dead
the old outer you no longer exists
unlike your inner revolution
which continues to evolve
redefining a checkered past
with a future that has no end
january two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I like the multiple meanings in “hit” here, which allows for a variety of interpretations. Like with all your pieces, you have my mind exploding after reading. Your poems offer just enough detail, while holding just enough back, allowing me to imagine on my own. “Indiscriminate authority” and “checkered past” enrich the piece exponentially.
thanks so much for sharing your thoughts related to this poem