Mantra of Resurgence

The sore neck pains from years past rise up from the bubbling muck of muscle fibers to plague me another day. Titling to and fro like the Leaning Tower of Pisa, thoughts sway in accordance; seeking refuge from the errant spin cycle mind. Minds all jumbled from being unable to understand the native language. Sessions where English mutates into an amorphous conglomerate of letters that form hazy images of words–in turn making no sense at all. As though I’m reading letters glued together, and reconstruction of letter-to-word-to-meaning is all but wishful thinking. Calamity further ensues as the head is overworked in both physical and intellectual anguish. Worn thin by ineptitude and arthritis, days run long like Indian summers; forever dragging the heat into the ‘ember months. Yet all is not lost, no matter how much the lament crescendos on the heart strings, for there is solace in the new day. Salvation in the hope of tomorrow, and the humbling truth that I’ll at least be there to see it.