Sails in the Setting Sun

When I was a young man tired of thirty three;

I thought there was something else owed to me!

Yet barely had I just seen the open sea;

And still quite beside myself for company!

 

Stealing a middle aged fool of forty five;

Feeling all cocky and cool to survive!

Hadn’t gone to school to learn to thrive;

Just sat on a stool and drank myself alive!

 

It was a tormented soul what found fifty six;

Fore-mentioned goal, never added to the mix!

My life had become a set of illusions and tricks;

No found net conclusions for an intricate fix!

 

It wasn’t until I’d turned completely sixty two;

That I’d finely learned how neatly what to do!

Sorrow should have burned, discreetly up and through;

Tomorrow can be earned, or be deeply burying you!

It Turns Upon Me

It turns upon me, as a top might spin;

the treachery that pampers one’s soul!

Never could the good cry from within;

without the bad setting it’s own goal!

 

It turns upon me, as a heart might beat;

a window onto my own love’s betrayal!

No sooner do I turn around to use my feet;

my every good intent sets sail!

 

It turns upon me, as does a drunken man;

As if that thing I had bought, were true!

From so deep below, ! can only do what I can;

As if I were at liberty to break through!

 

It turns upon me, this soul sucking beast;

as it takes what I am and makes it static!

It takes the most, and leaves the least;

A basement dressed up, like an attic!

 

It turns upon me, to make an impression;

and steals my happiness away!

The saddest thing, is the deepest depression;

It turns upon me this very day!