I’m not sure I’m gonna make it.
All the aches
and pains
of age
and strain
from all these games
I’ve played and lost along the way.
I’m past the point
of top performance.
My body’s diminished,
my mind’s an annoyance.
I don’t get a chance
to be light,
and be buoyant,
day after day
crash waves
of disappointment.
If this is “Middle age”,
I guess I should be happy.
I made it,
and I should I wake up and gladly
take a bit of the sting
of this thing
called “Life” away.
In times of great misery,
I make good company.
Hitting the wall
or the bottle.
Withdrawal,
full throttle.
The king of my castle
who lives on the bottom.
A palace of bones,
a throne drenched in blood,
I’d go it alone,
but I’m still in love.
I’ve just got to push further,
I have to be stronger,
I have to go harder,
just hang on longer.
Keep grinding away
on the edge,
’til I’m sharper,
then cut myself out
of this darkness.
I’m not gonna live underground.
I’ve had enough of that
this time around.
I’ve been so high,
that when I came out of the clouds,
I never stopped
going down.
I’m giving up all of that, now.
I’m gonna finally make you proud.
I know it seems hopeless,
but I know that growth is,
like wearing pain as a crown.
If that’s the case,
then I’ll be the king
of this orbiting burial mound.
HG – 2021
