Destiny

A Christmas poem

Photo by Arnesh Yadram from Pexels

A Sunday morning is fit for reflections.
I open my pen
I clutch my notebook.
I begin writing
On my forehead
Labels that have run out of glue
They don’t stick
They hold questions.
Questions don’t linger
Questions fly off.

Like
Why do I feel so sad?

Like
Am I the only one?
Am I truly alone?

Like
If I Do
Or Don’t,
Does that say something about me?
And if so, what?

What does it say about me
If I don’t look forward to the
Holy Days?
If the thought of cleaning
Scrubbing
Buying
And baking
Strikes me as
…
Depressing.

Do I have more questions than answers?
Is this my destiny?
Spending eternity
as a sack of bones wondering
What if?
Why this
And Why that…