Mindful She Was, Original Poetry by Thomas Martin Saturday


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Hey! Come look at this!
I said to myself
my autopsied brain examined
like the NSA does e-mails,
astonishment
written all over my face.

She has a modicum
of human decency,
for we would have thought
she was some bitch
like that friend of Denise,
that helped us practice
how to cringe at the creature.

A heart bigger
than the Grinch after Christmas
unspoiled,
with the imprint
of cynics running at large
all over a disbelieving world.

We need not bother with
the mistakes,
defiance
willful disregard,
as they are just like everyone else,

when reckoned against
the Great I AM.

Still,
there is something here
worth preserving,
impressions embedded
within a repentant soul.

Her best moments
singularly angelic,
remarkable for their naiveté,

seem to be all about
nothing, nothing,
just nothing,
of value to the wise ,
the mighty
of an arrogant world.

Instagram to St. Peter:
she died possessed,
of an unselfish love.

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