We all have our battles to fight. The wee sma’ hours are the worst. Dedicated to Mike Verdie.
To sleep and meld with midnight’s tomb;
Or die and enter Karma’s womb.
To rage against the endless doom
of poverty and war….
Or pray ’til you’re an empty shell
and still feel you inhabit hell,
from their perspective few can tell
those things which plague your mind;
and people say “you’re looking well!”
in order to be kind.
But no-one knows those battles fought
immersed in pit of night
and all those deals you make and break
before the waking light.
While clinging fast with trembling grasp
exhausted from the fight;
That tenuous rope
of forlorn hope