Waking,
disoriented,
to the weight of it:
dislocation, depression,
despair.
Struggle, it's what I do;
it's what must be done.
Life is combat.
Stand up; soldier on.
Show up for life.
Make the day
or it will make you.
Sunshine helps.
So does birdsong,
friends, whiskey
and ganja.
Still, past failures
nibble at the edge
of my consciousness
like hungry stalkers.
Reflection
is both the joy
and the curse
of aging.
Always,
the old question
haunts me:
am I a fool
and a loser
or have I simply
lived out
my karma?
I expect
no answer,
but in death.
- mce
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