...so here I am, the same old creek

again, without a paddle,

I saddle up a wish and ride to glory;

debating with myself if I

have scaled another mountain,

but counting blessings tells a different story.

Undoubtedly, tomorrow's sky

will boast a huge orb burning,

and turning slowly, Earth will go on spinning;

would blinking in the moonlight stop

some Mother's child from dying?

Defying what would be a new beginning?

Another time, a different me

might gladly be a martyr,

imparting hope to simple souls in sorrow;

but walls have grown too hard to bash

my weary head asunder,

the underworld will still be there tomorrow.

A cavalcade of freedom flags

assaults my eyes with colors,

and nullifies my biased mind discreetly;

what sympathies I may have felt

to some forgotten ethos

are lost as sleep devours the evening sweetly.

On wakening, the light is there,

it shines on all and sundry,

the mundane reasons why I go on trying;

and, grimacing at garden gnomes

I put my best foot forward,

toward another brave attempt at dying.