Bandy Legged Drunk

There he stands outstretched arms that offer relief Causing our weary hearts to yearn and strive for a little more. Always a little more. The glittering jewels of his bedazzled fingers ignite passions Deeply buried within the recesses of our byzantine nature. As He totters, tentatively, temptingly Just within the grasp of our sight, Just beyond the grasp of our fingers, Try as we might. With bandy legs he totters before us, leading that we may follow. But how can one, being of sound mind, consummately adhere to the trail Of one so detached from reality that he may be mocked as the village drunk? This is the very worst of the evils and despair that has accosted our race From the great perils of Jason and his golden fleece Down to the travails of Igodo and his band. Despair and excruciating agony assail the mind and body; Despair encloses the mind in the daunting cage of its grasp While agony racks the body to the height of despondency Where you feel you definitely can feel no more and then you feel some more. It is at this opportune moment that the worst begins; The aching heart. This metaphorical citadel of feelings and emotions begins a tumultuous overflow Churning out bite after bite of sweet memory from the memory card of the body. This is when he appears on the horizon, taking your tortured hands And whispering words of optimism - barren optimism. Knowledge is the apex of despair. Looking up from the dark pits of anguish into the dim and waning Light of hope that fills your fading sight and illuminates the heart. The knowledge that there is no means of escape, no broom upon Which one can fly to the blue moonlight like the famous wizards of J. K. Rowling. This is truly what ties us down, what bellies our courage And undermines our strength. This however, does not advocate for the castigation of the bandy legged drunkard He is the adrenaline that keeps us going The stimulant that revitalizes our body and disincarcerates the mind His faltering footsteps, the only life line to which we cling That we might not lose ourselves to the maelstrom of horrors in this life. Hope, our bandy legged tottering drunk.