November 2022
Ed Ahern
Salmonier@aol.com
Bio Note: I resumed writing after forty odd years in foreign intelligence and international sales. There's four hundred fifty stories and poems published so far, and six books. I work the other side of writing at Bewildering Stories, where I manage a posse of eight review editors. I'm also lead editor at The Scribes Micro Fiction magazine.

Comfortable

I kind of like myself,
psychic warts and all.
There, I’ve said it.
No one more comfortable 
to be with than me.
The sins I haven’t forgiven
I’ve learned to tolerate.
Like an old sweater
with moth holes and stains
that suits me just fine.

Nocturne
A Villanelle

I’ve lost the meaning of a passing day.
The hours that measured goals are indistinct	
and time itself has taken on decay

The urgency of tasks has gone astray
and purpose flakes away with every drink.
I’ve lost the meaning of a passing day.

The joys once bright have darkened down to gray.
My story seems already to be inked
and time itself has taken on decay.

My passions once robust are not okay,
with many urges all but gone extinct.
I’ve lost the meaning of a passing day.

Much knowledge hard acquired has gone away.
My skills once facile are no longer synched
and time itself has taken on decay.

I fight against a future so betrayed
but ending is becoming quite distinct.
I’ve lost the meaning of a passing day
and time itself has taken on decay
©2022 Ed Ahern
Editor's Note: If this poem(s) moves you please consider writing to the author (email address above) to say what it is about the poem you like. Writing to the author is what builds the community at Verse Virtual. It is very important. -JL