Need No Sensitivities

Of all the times that came before

I felt myself a troubadour

I wonder whether I changed much

Or remain the same, merely stuck?

 

A mind that dies is tragedy

A mind imbued sees rhapsody

They can be both one and the same

A man in health inflicted, lame.

 

Spare me your sensitivities

These words and sensibilities

I’ve heard the noise infectious, tense

Take them back to origin whence.

 

This glue it binds a pen to me

To write a dirge, an elegy

Lament upon whom I could have been

A voice not heard, a man unseen.

 

Such spinning wheels beneath my feet

Such a well worn path down this my street

I tire of things unchanging and flat

I cannot be more specific than that.

 

Please release me from these doldrums

I tire of sitting, twiddling thumbs

The devil makes work for such digits idle

So I’m in hell if I believe the Bible.

 

Do I need help to get from here?

I have the skill to fight this fear

I have the strength and I command

To do this all through my own hand.

 

© Kris Blackburn 18/02/13

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