Initially written March 18th, 2023
and revised exactly two years later
tweaking the poem here and there
courtesy adding or subtracting Nabisco
National Biscuit Company (1898-1971) tidbits
in case a random reader
possesses a photographic memory
recollecting word for word
(er... rather curd for curd)
my literary endeavor
when he/she once again visits
this titled epistle.

My heart is jaded
from too much exposure
to the world at large.
No longer can I watch
the nightly news
and feel anything;
the river of caring,
where my sympathy
and compassion reside,
have long since dried up.
My heart has hit
the point of saturation
this sponge is full;
not another drop
can it hold,
while I am lost at sea...
I want to feel again,
but I know not how
to make this
numbing sensation recede.
My tears have fled,
the well is dry

My cup of coffee steaming,
in the early morning sun,
my mind needs gentle cleaning,
gathered thoughts becoming one.

Bring to life my vision here,
in this time and hour,
not much happens yet, I fear,
see bumble bee's boring power.

Call out to me, I'm listening,
ideas, where are you now?
Show a glimmer, a glistening,
lost again, I don't know how.