A Cliched Existence (Bloody but Unbowed)

EPILOGUE

caught lightning in a bottle

a tiger by its tail-

         somehow, someway

this race has run its course; this ship has set it’s sail;

you could smell the rat,

you could hear the dropping pin,

his days are numbered—got him dead to rights,

his fat is in the fire, on this cold, cold, darkened winter’s night

Prologue

sheltered from the sun—

imagination runs riot, off the beaten path, for miles and miles,

improving each shining hour; in full cry—

every inch the king—a dream awoken from and by

ACT I

it’s not all beer and skittles though, but this to you, I need to tell. Still, even so, I do understand, I get the pointed view:

“It’s all wool and a mile wide,” as is with the cost of life, the way it is one must take pleasure from the simple things—yet, please provide me a word edgewise, take it for what it’s worth, but I’ll call it advice, “gather ye rosebuds as ye may, but don’t count your chickens before they’re laid.”

what once was deemed old hat

death has since warmed over; that well’s run dry,

all things weighed in the balance

and found wanting time and again

it costs a pretty penny here and now

the world’s gone astray, off the wall and down the hall,

no longer a bowl of cherries; no longer simply left to chance,

too many ill gains for some—while for many—

the fattest calf’s since grown thin

ACT II

but these memories I’ve since forgotten—the good times, the bad times, and all the mediocre sections in-between, I am who I am at this day in time, no future self to ponder, no past tense to plunder the present me away. I’ve bided time, I’ve waited, I’ve prayed—instead of direction, instead of guidance, I’ve been graced with idle chitchat

composed of weasel words.  It is now, I understand, things must change!

I’ve been the drawer of water; I’ve been the hewer of wood,

yet I’ve also hid my light under many a bushel—both being paths that led me to the same old sight

I’ve stared deep into the face of dismay; I’ve found pearls before swine, been cast into outer darkness, but only once have I ever had the privilege of sitting in the catbird seat, and that time is nigh.

Act III

…and there’s the rub:

snares and delusions often appear, well before the shoe fits the other heel. Hell is paved with good intentions—this I all too greatly understand.  When will that crow come calling? When will that ship set dockside?  When will the answers appear?

I wait and I wait, forever and a day; the hour is upon me now, a decision’s due—and as every schoolboy knows, what’s here today is gone tomorrow. No need to live them drowning in sorrow; no need give pause again.  I’ve done all that’s been asked; I’ve been the good soldier—taking each task to heart—yet the only response I’ve ever received, are those notes passed by the tolling bells, the kind that always played so well.  Tonight, however, in part because, I refute their song, no longer will I play this part, no longer will I be solely made of the dove.

bloody but unbowed

the time is ripe:

to take a tilt at the windmills

to bear the burden and the heat of the day

to run roughshod over all that comes

to ring down the curtain

to rip it to shreds

to greet the rising tide

to bear the brunt of what may be

to find that red letter day

to beard the lion in his staid

to live, for once, a life that’s alive; unafraid

to live a life that’s free

to live the life that was meant for me

Join me over at D’Verse for another installment of Open Link Night, where some amazing poetry will be on display.  While there, share a piece of your own as well.  Doors open at 3:00 PM, See you there.