If I had
wings
of a dove,
I would
fly
away
surrender
this lackluster existence
where
talent flees
me
unused
unwanted
undisciplined
in a grind
and some
how
I slip
off
pedestals
into
my life’s
chained melody
flat note
unsung in any chorus.
Yes!
This is me
falling
down
down
down
a rabid hole
called mortal
wounded
so I rattle on
about nothing of
consequence &
nobody
knows
the trouble I see
just
here in
nowhere
in somehow
don't know
I’ve lost this
spark
unlit genius premonition
lost calling
lost in prayer
lost…
lucky I can't be-come
or so
says ye of such
little, little
faith.
Yet, here I AM
still
ready
to do
or
die
do
or
die
do or dare I?