Adventurous, Forthright, Calamitous, Old!

 

 

     A man came to be one day,

Speculating his worth to The Gods

Seeking only quandary he could beat

     His submissive stance -

Becoming more and more apparent

 

     His stride – sterner still

Than the passive look in his eyes

His conviction knowing only

Victory, feeling each and every

Whimper, beneath a multitude

     Of lies,

 

     Balance,

Equivacable only to an importuned

Failing ego – battling sensibility,

     Would have the man sway,

Fall, bound unnecessarily

And drunkard, into walls

Built of self-contempt,

 

     But then,

He meant well despite

His hell excursion,

     He didn’t understand

‘Youth’ would be outgrown by

His ailing torso and so,

He grabbed the stick with which once

He used to beat,

     And used it for its rightful

Meaning; gaining support,

Glad he found his wise.

 

Michael J Waite 20th August 2015.