It tags along like a stain
And while you hope
It smears and smirches
A vision of things going good
Getting better here
Into useless fear.

It's a mark of pending ill
Something not right
An oops that will not out
Something slipping by
On the fly
A shiver chill.

Some things color our way
Brightening and warming
But those others, those sully
Little things that may,
That could, we ignore
Or should.

The stigma we spill
Is nothing but a darkening hope
A losing faith, doubt.
When all is really well
The fire of dawn
Looks like hell.

03/11/2005

Posted on 03/12/2005
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