Relentless the ache,
the cake and eat it too misnomer,
when deliveries are few and far between,
the panoramic view of being a target,
far less a joy than thinking anything true
from the mouths of human beings.
Up the garden path and back,
a track I’ve known and in ground
the trench my feet have made,
when soothing words and promises
allayed my fears,
to be the very spear that pieced my heart.
Life and all its aspects come at cost,
of learning, of falling to the assumptions
that create grievous bodily harm,
and a mental state that needs mediation,
or the straight-jacket a choice,
when those voices won’t shut up.
I’ve drowned in self pity, so much,
I get lung infections,
and my predilections are driving me crazy,
wanting to know but better off not,
and then, get trampled by the stampede for the door,
what more could they do?
Death is the sleep I never get,
just hope my insomnia lasts,
the heart’s still viable, but bruised,
and imparts a will to trudge on,
through the pain and paragon of mercy,
when life just stops short of breathless.
I’m restless, beyond quirky,
and creativity the activity
that saves my inert aging core,
so I just say more and repeat the process,
while ailments slowly devour this once taut body,
and like dripping candle wax, I stand in my under-daks.
I guess life is filled with inequity,
a stinging, slow lethargy in age,
but I still have autonomy,
rivalled my gastronomy,
as I eat my way through the worries that I hold,
and in fairness to life, all my wrongs of strife,
it was me that led me up that garden path, after all.
Tony DeLorger © 2018
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