My arms ache from hanging on,
To that pillar of sanity that
Controls our daily lives.
It has been said, by those
Who supposedly know,
That Poets usually succumb,
To the degradations of alcohol,
Lose their grip on reality
And become insane or die,
At an early age.
I am well on my way to
Becoming an accomplished drinker
And feel, that it is only a matter
Of time before sanity deserts
Me or my liver quits,
And then it's over.
Note! This was originally written approximately 40 years ago.
What in hell am I doing here,
Lost in my anonymity,
Surrounded by indecision,
At times sinking in my own self pity.
Life's sweet moments, are the sweetest I've
Coupled with bouts of depression,
Interspersed among my mundane moments.
Existence is for the sake of existing,
Nothing more, nothing less.
Aspirations of importance pervades all.
Few achieve, most while failing,
Do not fail, but attain that level
Which we all must rise to.
God, if I will understand,
That having been, I will ask
Having seen, I will see no more
And having loved,
Be loved forever.