Further Pondering of My Insignifi-cant's of Being
I sit and ponder all the reasons
I cannot get life fucking straight
whether I run at it head on-
or lower my pace to a slower gait
I seem to lose-no matter the season
I cannot get my head in focus
from constantly looking behind
or through the side-view mirrors
(where objects may be closer than they seem)
I always seem to lose my mind
it's just a bunch of hocus pocus
My kids think I'm an awful witch
and my lovers all like to run away
perhaps seeking a better ground
or someone with a bit more sanity
either way, none of them will stay
and all agree I'm some sort of a bitch
I sit and ponder all of my "cant's"
instead of the whys, or the cans
because they are all my anchors
of happenstance, not just of chance
the undoer's of my best laid plans
they lead me in life's losing dance
so I fail, and I cry
I scream out loud, and beg to die
but even death's washed it's hands of me
so it seems, this life is never free
it just cost me all my yesterdays
and of course my fallen praise
as I sit and ponder my insignifi-cant's of being
me
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