Wake To Frequent Reality I Lack Pride and Joy
Alternately titled inferiority
complex since little boy
oft times ponder what
afterlife like beyond far horizon ahoy...
No matter scarce giddiness wave
did carry and buoy yours truly aloft
analogous to dwell amidst
hermetically sealed croft,
imagining small rented farm,
especially one in Scotland
comprising plot of arable land
attached to house,
where hat o' this gentleman doffed,
Thence beckoning thee
to get comfortably numb
nurse cocktail I doctor, ah yea
with good n plenti of rum
lamenting mein kampf
worth ordinarily absolute zero
on par with being
a harmless no good bum
reflecting scores of lapsed years
since bing hard school of knocks alum
lionizing American south antebellum,
Pace of existence found one
idyllic I exclaim
casually sauntering along,
quite welcoming if one lame
especially inviting nineteenth
century hamlet fictitious place name
crafted within A Stop At Willoughby
(think or Google twilight zone
Season 1 Episode 30), where
main character shed his shame,
I too could easily capitulate
if/when time travel will encapsulate
one to journey where simply
livingsocial appeared exotic and great,
versus twenty first century Schwenksville
specifically Highland Manor
each and every resident doth insulate
her/himself within four walls
affixed with memories,
a long gone mate
similar to mine nonagenarian papa,
whose spouse Harriet,
a prior poem
I did poetically narrate,
which rancor hardened filial me obdurate
considerably decreased, yet revisit loss,
now jars thee noggin o' this primate
smoldering resentment - a human trait
did poison when mother at death's door
objection to accursed
disease did undulate
within her cancerous kindled,
riddled, wasted body joie de vivre
loathsome beast could
never invalid date
grim reaper would not wait,
her passing fourteen
and half orbitz ago
Withheld a hug I never gave
presently wince with sorrow,
yours truly never forgave
himself eternal repentance within mine
soul asylum as unseen knife doth engrave
mine mean deprivation
bajillion miles separated us
unconditional love all she did crave.
Copyright © Matthew Harris | Year Posted 2019
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