If Only Just
If only
I could just find a way
to pay my bills,
live comfortably again,
not under the shadows
of storm clouds and bombers
waiting to rain down hellfire,
catastrophes and tragedies,
suffering and devastation.
If only
I could just forget
lost love, dashed dreams,
soulmates who disappeared
like mirages of lakes and palm trees
in this desert of loneliness,
gritty sand
that cuts like burning razors.
If only
I could just hope
in this wasteland of darkness,
this vacuum of emptiness
that seems to start within
and it spreads to encompass
the entire world, the entire universe,
like a black hole ravenous with lust.
If only
I could just promise
my kids futures that are better than my past,
lives that are better than mine,
a little less painful, full of heartbreak,
futures full of laughter and love,
but childhood is a sunset
in the rear view mirror.
And “if only”
is a prefix
for something that will never happen
and “just”
is a word we use
to tell ourselves things are easy
when they’re really the hardest things
imaginable.