Post-Neology

I am a morning person,

breaking my soul’s fast.

Every broken dawn

reminds my nightmares:

I will outlast.

I am a night owl,

preying ’neath Diana’s gaze,

my daylight mask abandoned,

wings untethered

by the hell

of other eyes.

Praying tonight I might fly

where my heart of hearts

Inez cannot spy.

I am both

my light-born brothers

still, I am born

of neither them

nor their fathers’ fathers.

I am the product of my parents,

But the sum of their parts,

Is lesser than this Son.

I am more

than a couple ghosts,

souls long lost,

left between

forgotten years,

compelled by

selected fears.

I am my former selves

and our inherited facts.

A council of elders,

eternally young

in the mind’s eyes cataracts.

King and jester.

Ox and yoke.

A self-critical joke.

The dawn to be,

the twilight of yester.

I am the one,

the empathetic asthmatic,

feet planted firmly

to a world on fire

the new normal’s funeral pyre,

ash marching to my lungs,

strugglin’ to breathe

not just for air,

but for a brighter light.