Prickers

The passing of time

Perforate us with laden moments

Stinging like prickers

Upon the flesh

The eyes of others

Reflect upon us ourselves

Swirling emotion and expectation

Blotting identity on the skin and soul’s canvas

The passages of meaning’s creation

Are forever barbed and confounding

Yet down the shrouded twisting path

Lies joy

Gene G. McLaughlin 2024