The Script…and what life follows
How much may I change my script,
amend each day for poor excuse,
and do the changes give further proof,
or testimony of better ways,
instill a heart with brighter outlook,
or rid the ominous and dangerous steps I took,
when scripts I held, as if nothing else existed?
Are the characters too vain,
am I lost to my own sad refrain,
ego leaped into the mire just to see a body on fire;
and what trail have I left,
all understanding of this sentient mind bereft,
a deep, no bottomless mind,
edge of abyss, deaths delicate kiss, yet alive?
Each day as day’s sun beckons life to move,
I ponder what lines I will construe,
and the tragic conflicts that await,
drawn to life while slumber tied,
subconscious expectations I’m still alive,
and so I move, to write yet another blues,
a scratching head, would be epiphany, to lose.
Sad, this melting mind of heartache’s will,
where choices are distilled, to rocket fuel,
and launched am I in nature’s possibilities run a muck,
as I, crawling from the proverbial primordial ooze,
read magic, a mind to peruse,
and amend my script so often,
I barely ever remember my lines.
Tony DeLorger © 2017
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Nice piece Tony – amazing how often we find ourselves either wishing we had a script or wishing one didn’t exist
Well said Ralph. Glad you enjoyed it my friend. Cheers!