What should be
A joyous moment
Becomes a tedious
Chore, fraught with
Discomfort, trepidation,
The memory of how things
Evolved to this point.
It would be nice to
Be able to avoid it,
But some things
Are inescapable.
Working and reworking
The thing without any
Clear idea of what it’s
Supposed to look like.
Sure, he’s read plenty
About what needs
To be done, but none of
It makes sense.
Forging onward with
The distinct feeling
That this may not be
The path either.
It arrives and elicits
Questions not easily
Resolved, a perplexing
Serving of doubt mixed
With tentative hope,
A wish answered,
Respite from hardship,
Please let it be,
As of this moment
It isn’t and
Most likely
Will never be.
Everything this day
Seems to be of outsized
Importance, immense
Consequence, no filter
In place, just raw,
Unadulterated displeasure.
Wave after wave
Testing his mettle,
Eroding what little
Strength remains,
Each day a new test
Of perseverance.
Will it or
Won’t it?
Conclusion unknown,
No answer forthcoming,
The only recourse available is to
Ponder options,
None of which are pleasant.
Unable to convince him of
His own worth,
The process unfolds over
Many painful years of
Self-loathing,
Watching helplessly
From nearby
As things devolve,
Constantly hoping for
Something that may never come.
So many things to do,
Each one seemingly
More daunting
Than the last,
Roiling helplessness,
Inner fallacies derailing
Otherwise simple tasks.
It didn’t work out,
Maybe because it
Wasn’t meant to be but,
More likely, due to
His penchant for
Trying to force
Something to happen
When it really
Should be left alone
On its own path.
