Abridged, this invisible diary of life,
not penned but looming in clouds,
a diaphanous file of irrefutable account,
assessed and reassessed
as life twists and turns in
both circumstance and perception.
These truths like wisps of weighted denial,
haunt my skies with ever vigilant intent,
making sure I acknowledge the lessons,
those mental diary notes of worth,
that if ignored, pester all manner of
They loom, I dismiss,
and skies crack, my world to fall,
if I do not abridge my lame first intent,
the one that kicks hard my rump,
and forces my diary a read too late,
until in the end, I learn.
Mental notes are a glitch in flow,
but the sky is filled with my diary’s accounts,
too many to remember, to adhere,
and so my rump is booked I fear,
and my thrashing loss of memory
fills my days with reminding.
Abridged I am, and will forever be,
as life dictates all that I just don’t see,
perhaps one day I will learn,
and my rump for once will not burn
with the subtle cue
prompted by my narrow view,
and my diary’s account of imbalance.