And the Mule Wins the Day

A year it's been, a year and more...
not that anyone else is keeping score.
My poems have never slept for so long,
but life has also never felt more wrong.

'Defiance' is my utmost, my favorite word...
the closest to "me" that I have ever heard.
But necessity has stolen its triumph and pride,
survival having become my only guide.

Grief has forced upon me six rounds...
loaded the revolver by filling the mounds.
The muzzle presses into my temple every day,
and only mulishness holds it at bay.

Instead of defying assholes, malice, hate, greed...
my will is entirely bent towards this need.
I cannot write otherwise, cannot force the muse,
while I'm simply looping, "I refuse, I refuse, I REFUSE".

"Undefeated", my favorite songs belt out...
I wish I could claim it truly, could similarly shout.
But the truth is that I have been shattered,
soundly beaten, smashed, stained, battered.

But strength lies not in never taking the heat...
only in getting back to your goddamned feet.
And if there's two things I unquestionably know,
it's heat - and telling the world " no".

Charlie briefly belonged to a group that would say...
"the only easy day was yesterday".

I say, the only easy day was...
when?

Copyright © Andy Sprouse | Year Posted 2025

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