a quiet reflection

A quiet reflection like a blue moon night in a snow storm
non-forgiving bitter fingers caress
demanding vigilence not there
counting backwards was never my forte.

Punctuation stops the natural flow of meaning
causing accusations of run on sentences
followed closely by a clause that never finds
a servicable noun
I sprinkle lightly with commas.

A Yankee muses forgetable thoughts
hard learnings forge paths
negotiated but not forgotten
scars and wrinkles map
directions that may or may not
determine tomorrows.

This is a story poem at best
or bad prose perhaps
but this journey seems to demand
a seeding of words.