Since when is fierce longing non-combustible?
I feel the need to forgive for the raincoat it will dress me in,
keep some of the storm off of me anyway.
I sweat and try to beat back down the anger I feel
against things that have so often contradicted me,
against too many songs left unsung for no good reason.
Life’s calendar has me poised at late autumn for some time now.
Winter may kill me as the coldness seeps thru to bone,
rhyming wheezing going on for many years.
Just as nothing of real value can be long possessed by one,
if it were, it’s worth would plummet towards none;
life itself, clung to past reasonable, becomes poor exercise.
Why does time hold from us wisdom till its application little matters?
Why, if I can will myself to think, can I not will myself not to?
Backwards walking into the future, wondering why.
Hammer to string releases notes to fly to ear nearby
but sadness always climbs on for the ride, you pay the fare;
weak tea of having no one to make adjustments for.
Like the spider back from being sucked up by the vacuum,
the remorse again comes climbing up your leg;
you sigh and edge closer to the asylum.