by H.L. Dowless
I’m falling,
I’m tumbling,
I’m plunging
Headlong
Into this bottomless pit of dismal despair.
Don’t know what I’m going to do,
Have no idea where I’m going to go,
Nobody wants what I have to show;
I can no longer distinguish outright lies from hard truth.
I’m a drift,
I’m wandering,
I’m searching
For something solid to grab onto.
A floating fragment of wood,
A genie’s magic kite in the wind!
A bit of information that might be understood;
Oh when
Will this begrudging journey ever end?
A stone,
A bleached bone,
Both arms are wildly flailing!
I’m wailing,
There is not even a sour glimmer of a midnight moon!
I’m grabbing at nothing
Somewhere so deep inside this imperceptible gloom.
Ahead
The bitterly cold winds blow,
Behind
lakes of white hot flames
Leap and rage,
In between
The angry waters flow.
Where is my place on life’s stage?
So I stumble.
I stagger,
I bumble,
I pick along in a drunkard’s swagger.
Am I moving forward?
Might I be walking backward?
Could I be grooving in a circle?
I never intended for such to be so.
When I was young I imagined a place,
A glittering castle,
An envied employed space,
A life free of hassle;
But there was no foot landing to start,
No ladder to climb,
Nary an endearing heart,
No elevator to ride,
No warm guiding hand to grab.
So I floundered,
I wallowed,
My life raft transporting me to my ship crashed ashore!
I was shocked at how friends and everybody were so gelid
As I drifted off into a mysterious shapeless void.
***
The author is a thirty five year veteran writer who loves traveling, engaging in a variety of outdoor activities, and living life on the edge. One of his favorite places to live is on a cruise ship for writers, sailing around the whole wide world. Otherwise he is likely to call port oasis and seaside college towns from Spain and Italy, to Latin America and the USA home
Comments