Preserves

Fruit of life cherished and collected
in the cool hours of reflection,
each a ripe memento of sameness
that gives its plump and juicy essence
unto what fractures peace.

And the heart tarries
over the shelves of do,
the fragile layers of stability
prepared to preserve
that harvest of what is consumed
during the steady search for serenity.

It is unvarnished of illusion,
stripped of any mental supplications
to give a look other than truth.

For in the simple honesty
life is the heart beat among
each aisle of monotonous passage
across the familiar.

Hands lovingly holding
one more harvest
of the nutrients,
which provide vitamins
giving the hours spent
in such dull contemplation
over the boredom of being
a fancy sugar rush to keep
some surge in anticipation
filling the mind with its energy
so the routine becomes gray in possibilities
rather than just black and way.