I am made
of big mistakes
and a few lucky shots,
a few well timed words,
a few ill-fated attempts.
I am drawn
not to greater fortunes;
it seems I always select
the hard way.
The adversarial challenge.
The lost cause.
The underdog.
Iβm not in the habit,
of good habits,
or doing myself any favors.
Iβve cut my own Achilles
more that once
and tried to run.
Now, would this qualify
as performance induced stress?
Fear of success?
A psychological block,
rooted deeply in a disappointing
culmination of my formative years?
Constant, irredeemable failures,
coupled with emotional imbalances
and exacerbated by a myriad
of substance abuse problems
and a variety of sexual deviations?
Is it not, in fact, fear?
No, it must be blood chilling terror.
So, what its it
that drives the eyes and mind to wake?
To keep fighting?
To keep trying?
What sadism still imparts a measure of hope
to this hopeless case?
What god dares feed salvation
into this unresponsive vessel,
as if intubated by the Holy Spirit?
That which cast its lot long ago,
with Hell and its citizens.
What angels would deny him rest?
How does he remain in the fight?
A glimmer of hope,
in a black eye.
A duck, a dodge, a feint;
I keep learning to fight
that oldest of adversaries.
I just have to hang in there,
knowing,
that I still have a few lucky shots in me.
HG – 2016
So great!
Thank you for reading and for commenting! This one turned out much better than I remember it.
Sure! Haha that happens sometimes π check out my blog if you want βΊ but really, great work π