Smudged glasses perched at the end of my nose,
Teeth are no longer in pristine white rows.
Black sacks filled with coals droop under mine eyes
Brown belts stretch and fray, a diet of lies

Tired defeat just one coffee away,
Nearer and nearer with each passing day
Rest and recover, times’s up for today,
This moment is gone, for now anyway.

Why worry, why moan, why whine and why fret.
Stop. Consider. Or perhaps better yet;

Accept that your lot is shot, what you got
Will one day rot, and what that you begot
Will be forgot, but; tis not all for naught.
Let’s concoct an upshot, some food for thought-

Though ourselves we may be temporary,
Our impact’s nonetheless contemporary.


Somehow Glorious

Today I am uninspired
My knees are weak, my eyes are tired
The week’s been long, the nights too short
I am all spent, what’s left is naught.
It’s surely closing in on me,
That monster we call apathy
With duvet tongue and mattress jaw
I can’t fight it any more
Swallow me whole, leave none of me out
There is nothing left to talk about.

But wait! What’s this! The monster frowns
From deep beneath its robe and gowns
A rumbling comes a deep bass groan
Stop a minute! Hold the phone!
I emerge, burst forth victorious
Not quite refreshed but somehow glorious.

For Triona,
Get well soon.