Only upon death...

of a loved
or one thrust into the limelight
and garners fame and fortune,
one impossible mission
for me (no pun intended)
doth not fear
to rest in peace,
cuz clean bill of health
near one hundred percent guarantee
with a near assurance
of waking up refreshed afterwards
and poised to strike
a nagging significant task
on a never ending todo list
until mortality expires,
where corporeal flesh
donning lovely bones
will be cremated
and put to stop once and for all
mental health challenges of mine.

Most occasions waking from deep sleep
find mere tattered fragments of dreams
to assail my consciousness.

Try as I might
to recollect or piece together
vestiges of rapid eye movement phenomena
tis a frustrating exercise in futility,
nevertheless REM
(rapid eye movement) sleep
crucial for cognitive
and emotional health because
during REM sleep, the brain
highly active, similar to when awake,
and processes the day's events,
which helps to integrate memories,
regulate emotions, and foster creativity,
and a deficit of Insufficient REM sleep
can lead to negative effects
on mood, learning, and memory.
No matter altered states
necessary oneiric shut eye experiences
they constitute approximately
one third of each day
and could allow,
enable, and provide
mother-lode of bountiful material
to expound vis a vis writing poems
or flash fiction, yet absolute zer0
or even partial success
to access excellent source
of USDA approved material
(not only to gain a greater outlook
within my own psyche),
but would be analogous
and akin to deprivation
indulging buffet spread
with gourmet cuisine
from across the webbed, wide world,
and body electric of mine
physically restrained from tasting
such mouth watering
food glorious food,
thus yours truly left
to bandy about lame ideas
about life, liberty
and the pursuit of happiness,
which effort to recall
visitation into zzz land if forced
yields nary a handy dandy
blues clue other than a blank screen.

While attempting to jump/kick start
a flow of words,
I initially let fingers skitter
across qwerty keyboard
and type whatever comes to mind
eventually discerning a pattern
to emerge or the faintest hint
of some nebulous vague notion
(coalescing into appealing theme,
similar to how the universe
post big bang triggered the birth
of space and time before
accretion of hot bodies -
such as the material girl)
as occurred here
when shortly after
awakening and scouring AOL
to mine for ideas,
and then suddenly beholding
impact of tragic headlines
(on the first frozen frame)
the imminent demise
of Caroline Kennedy's daughter
Tatiana Schlossberg, 35,
revealed terminal cancer diagnosis
acute myeloid leukemia
relegated potential topics
that popped into my head,
where chasing after any one
of those formerly hashtagged
as brilliant whimsical
and fantastical eureka moments,
would pale and be automatically ranked
as a trivial pursuit
in comparison to aforementioned
lugubrious Kennedy family grief,
not only affecting the anonymous writer
but avast assortment of people
who might in the near future
commemorate the unfair loss
shutter flying and buzz feeding
with the hum of intrusive media hounds
ever present analogous to the British Royals
forever thrust into the limelight,
now annotating every remaining
painstaking moment alive
after blatantly intruding
the privacy who cannot mourn
without the presence
of popular media annotating
to become a public display
unlike the technological trappings
yours truly of his posting
a pseudo anonymous prayer,
whose myopic eyes got drawn
(courtesy irresistible strong gravitational pull
towards the injustice and unfairness
of the sad news)
and linkedin to the unimaginable
grim prognosis and ultimate grief
affecting a veritable stranger
dumbfounded at a near
certitude of impending loss
within a prominent family,
whose nearly every generation
since suffered an accursed horrendous
string of woe harkening back
to the patriarch
Joseph P. Kennedy Senior,
who did not emigrate
from another country;
but born in East Boston, Massachusetts,
and the son of Irish immigrants,
but his grandparents
emigrated from Ireland
to the U.S. during
the Great Potato Famine of the 1840s.