Six

Whenever I feel grateful I exclaim:

“I’m thankful for this bounty and this hoard.”

Though I’m a poor man still I must proclaim”

“I’m glad for what I have—that I’m adored.”

For who can be a poor man with these gifts?

To make sense of the world as few else can?

And pen with neither quill nor paper this:

An eloquent proposal for the land.

But you approach and spread your nega-vibes.

And try and paint my mood with breaths of yours.

Try as you may I will not thus subside.
I will not wade into those darkened moors.

But life is seldom more than what you know

I can’t believe you’d try to steal my glow.