Discipline.
I wish I had it.
I missed it as a child,
rebelled against it as a
teenager
and forgot all about it as
an adult.
I flitted through
marriages,
children, friends, work,
feeling heroic for
moments,
but lacking patience
for the long haul.
I sit here gazing into my
past,
remembering the sublime -
writhing in guilt at my
follies
and when my heart is like
fit to burst
I stare at a stone –
ancient, veined -
from a time when prophets
roamed
and spoke of love
and I feel tears stealing
out.
Maybe I have reached my
limits
of self abuse.
Perhaps now, as the
swallows fly back
and the Spring sun warms
my bones,
I can see some definition,
something akin to
discipline,
threaded through the
years.