LET MY HAND DO THE TALK

Poetry

Remember me,

For my passions,

And for what I could best describe as compassion,

I do not know the nerve I tickle in you,

But in any way remember me.

I may not be ideal,

But I am a man of means,

I am my writing and my writing is me,

Yes by definition I am a writer,

But by occupation, a waiter,

Waiting upon the fates to finally smile down at my efforts.

I may make it, I may never make it

For its hard , smiling when crying is the default,

Fighting when giving up is the only way to rest my faint frame.

And to that I say I may or may not see the light at the end of the tunnels.

I would love to see the sun shine again, upon my life, my family,

Posterity, anyone that I touch with the crafts and smiths of my words,

But in the wake of the shrewd dealings of reality, I know that my life might be cut short before I see the end.

Why did it have to happen, I always ask anyone with ears enough to listen,

That I would find myself footslogging in the bog of uncertainity, heading into a 'promising future' that is as dark as a room without windows or a night without a moon.

Why should I have to hold my head high when I can just hang it in defeat and shame? Sigh and let tears wash down my eye.

The vision is great, but what if the rift between my present and fulfillment of this vision is so great as to warrant despair? Am I to still remain hopeful that I will fly?

What am I to do? Maybe build myself a plane to see me through? Maybe train and ride hornbill too?

It is a cruel hand upon my living, an unfortunate misgiving, and a dark cloud hangs above my head.

Yet all in all, each day, I pray for a tiny ounce of strength to fulfill this goal of day. To write and just write and keep writing.

If I don't live up to this then failure doesn't come on bigger serving. Each day I look forward to this - word on paper.

Through the winds of laziness and demotivation, it's all I live for,

I hope to leave a lasting mark in society, a mark that posterity will look back at on a chilly Throw-back Thursday evening and say in earnest," Indeed in our lineage, walked a great man".

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