*Illustration reference:
Alfred Agache, The Parcae, 1880s
From night to morn I ponder thusly
And chide myself, well, rather bruskly
If sleep comes naught, I wonder why?
Can’t close the lid of this mind’s eye
When living with the best of means
While others sandwiched in between
Make their way with no advantage
Ocean deep, entombed Atlantis
What twist of Fate determined mine
To be a life charmed with things fine
While in a vise another’s squeezed
Scarring hands and scraping knees
Endless lessons taught, not learned
Explains the glut of bridges burned
Rebuilt so quick, to only then
Be burned and ruined yet again
We’re blessed with gifts of highest rate
And still we overcomplicate
If simpler systems turned the soil
Our worser instincts wish to foil
“What can I do?” the booming strain
Bouncing round my weary brain
Like eerie echoes in caverns deep
So gingerly we traverse steep
I won’t be thrashed in my lone goal
Emerge from ooze as black as coal
Yet needing just to rest awhile
Then face this life with scoffing smile
Exhausted? Yes, but not ungrateful
I might lack faith, but I’m not unfaithful…
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