Will I be inscribed
My name bound within His list
Signature intricate with the loops of my initials

A few minutes ago
My feet were planted firm
Yet my spirit fell on its knees
As I read the Kaddish
Within a crimson log of transliterated prayers

As I still stand here
I think of all the people I’ve lost
And the people I wish not to lose

Those who wrote of interglactic conspiracies
Those who lived the rest of their years imbibing wine
Those who went missing and were never found

I think of those I served
People granted freedom
Losing their lives
Losing their dignity
Losing their ability to keep their heads on straight

And then I think of the preventable fatalities
Ones who held nooses
Ones who boozed to death
Ones who constantly find cameo appearances in poems
As I mimic the stitchings of Mme. Defarge

Somber I remain
Wanting to scream for the mercy of God
Desiring the abdication of the throne
Where my rage bears the crown

I want to strip my sins and my ego
Lubricating my skin with support
Only to let it flake away
As air gets dryer
As cheeks get wetter
As vision gets more blurry
While letters do the dyslexic do-si-do

I need solace
I need a lifetime of solace
I need an economy-sized jar of solace
This year
And hopefully every year
I remain

-Jack M. Freedman (Jacob Moses)

Published in Breadcrumbs Magazine

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