Modest and grateful 
I count blessings 
they don’t blame 
but remind me 
what I have 
and never need 
or ever want 
to take stock 
takes away concern 
for grace comes 
to favored souls 

Having spent years 
no not wasted
invested and saved 
I then spent 
and I squandered 
squeezing and wringing 
out what’s left 
and finally lost 
in the losing 
and it’s loss
I found something 
that I’d forgotten 
a little locket
tucked away under 
and behind beneath 
and inside me 

I have tried 
to be my
own eraser rubbing 
out the mistakes 
of my past 
with such verve 
as to tear
the very paper 
upon which I
wrote my answers 
now I sit
content knowing that 
I did my
best and accept 
that whatever grade
I do get 
is given by 
those self assigned 
as my teachers 

Do not be 
so very sure
for every icicle 
becomes a drip
and every drip
a drink and 
every drink turns 
into an ocean 
one is never 
what one appears 
be it cloud
trickle or drop 

Do not seek 
in order to 
escape for the 
jailman changes shape 
and he will 
always stand in 
front of you 
in fresh disguise 
be it enlightenment 
or even curse 
the only way 
to be free 
from your bonds 
is to face 
them head on 
with intentional self