VOICES FROM THE FIRE: Kenneth Vincent Walker

Residual Scars

There are some

Wounds that time

Cannot in fact heal,

Only serve to expand

The agony that’s felt.

At times the mind

Plays cruel tricks and

Is torturous upon our

Remaining time, living

In our glass fortresses

Which we have built.

We compromise our

Feelings, all memories

Aside, but they remain

In our subconscious

Only one day to arise.

I would be remiss in

Saying these wounds

Cannot be cauterized.

However, the residual

Scars are forever and

Before our waking eyes.

One to Three Years

A mere—

One to three years is all

That is left, robbed of

The most salubrious item

Each one of us possesses,

Stress levels crest  atop the

Frighteningly unfathomable.

The diagnosis is quite dire,

Proceeding to shockwaves

Stark, utterly unimaginable.

A mere—

One to three years is all

That is left. So this is the

Way it finally ends, one last

Breath and invariably death.

A second and third opinion

Break on the horizon, but

Hope is now dwindling as

The setting sun yields for

No man; no compromises.

A mere—

One to three years is all… 

A View From Blue Origin

It’s not hard to

Imagine, but hard

To fully appreciate,

How small and

Insignificant the

Earth is in the

Vastness of space,

And how little our

Time is on this planet

In conjunction with the

Vastness of Time itself.

Truly, this must be an

Eye-opening experience,

An awakening of sorts,

An unveiling of a reality

We so thoughtlessly

Ignored prior to a view

From Blue Origin as we

Float along weightlessly. 

Gravitas of Gravity

As I continue to melt

Again while off my feet,

No not from the heat,

But rather from gravity.

Gravity pins me to the

Cushions of my seat

As I feel depleted of

The energy needed to

Scurry about frantically,

Haphazardly with fleet-

Footed gazelles, albeit

Impossible to compete.

There was a time when

My resolve once replete

Was relentless, concrete.

Observation complete

As I continue to melt.

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