The Passage of Life
)
Hope
The Joy of seeing it all, unveiling,
in reach of his grasp.
This blooming life, a feeling of knowing no bounds,
A new job to start, the future unfolding
before his eyes.
The knowledge that no constraints held him,
He could fly on high, unshackled.
Fire was flowing in his veins,
pulsating.
The strength of his body, the power in his arms,
His sturdy stride, would not be held back.
The eye of a girl, caught on the bus,
could she be the one?
Her beautiful smile, the meeting of the eyes,
With fluttering dress, the hint of the flesh, desire.
An overpowering sense of being, the coming of age.
Where would he end?
Soaring aloft.
He could see success, circling, waiting to descend.
There were no limits, only those he would impose,
and they would be few.
He wanted it all, he could smell it, the taste in his mouth.
The impatience of youth his only curb.
Walking the streets he burned for it all,
one day he would clench it in his hand.
The flaming desire to take his place,
In this world of endless possibilities.
Reality
The daily grind, such a struggle,
Never enough time, the constant demands.
He looks to the photo,
His growing kids, there is the reason,
the strength to be found.
The purpose to fight on, to continue the insane.
With great remorse he sees them less,
how can he manage?
The constant nagging, at work, and at home.
Never good enough, you can do better,
Push yourself, drive, we need ever more.
The desires of youth, the aspirations,
Crushed beneath the weight of it all.
How did it come to this?
The exciting job, the beautiful wife,
Now just torments, laying bare his failures.
The endless pain in his back, the burning eyes,
Hunched over a screen, repeating the mundane.
When had his promise faded?
Holding the photo he found the will,
He would not buckle, take the easy way out.
The help of the drink, his only support.
Before facing her wrath he needed it's courage.
How easy to give in to it's call.
If not for his loves he would relent.
He longed for them hope, the future he never had,
The life that had trickled through his fingers,
Lost like sand, as time had bled his dreams dry.
Regret
The heavy weight of days too long,
The blaring head on mornings glare.
All those years consumed, for who's gain?
Not for his, the only surety.
The relief of that first long drink,
A sense of life's return.
Always present the hate towards her,
She turned his children from him,
drained his life away.
Trying to shave with shaky hands,
The steadiness a memory long past.
Years of long hours spent in endeavour,
for what? For this?
He could have lived as he wanted, followed his dreams.
No, he did the expected, with no thanks ever given,
Only pure betrayal, and falsities planted.
Blood dripped into the sink,
The unsteady hand, the shaking blade, the cut face.
Misunderstood by all,
even by his children.
They only knew her version of the farce,
Believing her lies, and deceit,
her only contribution.
He hated them all, in anger he threw the razor down.
Reaching for reprieve, the glass slipped from his grasp,
and smashed among the filth.
Enraged he grabbed the bottle, he would show them,
He would show them all.
