What does it cost?
What fare does the beggar submit
to hitch a ride
out of his decrepitude?
Is there a cure
for each affliction?
Does every tunnel
truly have a light
at the end,
or are some just a hole?
I heard the angels sing, once.
They said they knew the way.
Pointed True North,
and sang me off
to make my mistakes.
Strong headed
and weak minded.
To easily deceived
by a lying heart.
Staggered in from the cold,
blind drunk,
and stinking of failure.
“Well, this is another
fine pickle you’ve gotten us into.”
Me and my inner monologue.
He’s taken up residence
on my left shoulder,
and I can’t blame him.
I don’t want to be in here myself,
half the time.
Hope the devil,
and that old, singing angel
don’t mind the company.
Because, I think I know
what it costs
to get out of here.
Everything.
Anything less,
and it just wouldn’t be worth it.
Don’t cheapen creation
by thinking it’s a half-assed endeavor.
Interact with the universe
with the respect it deserves,
because it’s a wild pony.
The fare for this ride,
is everything you’ve got.
All of it.
The good,
the bad,
the ugly.
So, hand it over
and hop on.
HG – 2020
