Beneath cold layers of molten lead
I struggle to rise from my bed of pain
Where I have lain, all these many years
Since the days when I was the radiant center of a world
And blest my sphere with rugged freedom
And kist the lips of ultimate joy
So slow the naked power fled
I didn’t feel it slip away
But when I noticed something amiss
That was all, the center was undone
I laid me down in bed and slept
And dreamt of stinking death
The men and women I have known
Have all been, mostly, very nice
They take what comes to them with pride
That it should come at all causes no wonder
And full of face and pride of place
They feel quite good about themselves
I don’t want to put them down
The grace to live as natural folk
Seems quite a decent thing to me
And the days when I was the radiant center of a world
Burned hot enough to warm me now
In this, my bed of pain
The voices crowd inside my head
Some angry, others merely sad
They speak of things that might have been
Or things that shouldn’t ever have come to be
And though I know I shouldn’t listen
I cannot help but hear
Friday the Thirteenth, August, 2004