Treatment

Treatment

Quicken

the sun's rise

and the moon's fall

with medicine,

so the scorched 

cedes

to the resurrection

and the earth

erodes

to the precious

under clean skies,

without noise

and color,

as tomorrow

is pure

and the past

is a photo

with bruised edges

and scratches of regret,

lost in our mind,

until neurons

polish it

to a Seurat,

but the pills

leading back

have long been digested.

-Robert L. Jackson

This poem is the synthesis of two sources. First, my body has been battling itself in illness, and I just want time to pass until I am well (hopefully). However, am I then not relishing these moments in time as they should be. The second source is the motif of "nostalgia" posted by the Poets United blog (http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/search/label/Midweek%20Motif). They seemed to fit together into this poem.

Entropy

Entropy

Do

the poles of our souls

lose alignment

following 

the spirals of the world

and the meandering

motion

of hardened feet

-numb and lost-

across the terrain,

-constant through time-

unable to find

north?

-Robert L. Jackson III

Faith in Light

Faith in Light

The assembly line

installed

with pristine edges

and mirrored shines,

operated 

by newly trained workers,

slides, pulls and presses

the raw materials

into identical

functioning forms.

In the repetition,

the workers age,

the corners nick,

and the reflecting

faces

from surfaces

dull and disappear.

Many are born,

that fail to glow, 

and no one recalls

the design,

tearing on

thin yellow paper

in a corroded

file cabinet.

We arrive at the store,

with faith,

but find

no bulbs. 

-Robert L. Jackson