Blogging Poetry

The Old Swing

Always Fight.

Alone. Prone. Floor of The Pit.

Dust of Ages, settles,

On My face. Permeates it,

Sorrow tests my mettle.

For how long, this Longest Time?

Searchers’ calls, long Ended,

Pain phrased to Rhythm and Rhyme,

Soon? Twin poles, unblended.

Familiar voice, “Not long!”

Euphoric tone, reminds,

The Old Swing? Always too strong.

Just brush the Dust behind.

A Rotten Sun crests the Edge,

The Pit’s Dust glows brightly,

Arise with a renewed Pledge,

Walk in-between, Lightly.

The Climb? From minutes to hours,

On the Edge, Drunkard’s Grin,

Dust washes off, Sun’s Showers.

War for Control, within.

“I can beat this thing!” I say.

Chemical floods my Brain,

Lingering Dust stuck to Grey.

I Smile, Smile through the Pain.

Poles swing about, Eternal.

The stable place denied,

I can’t remember, at all,

A Balance in my Life.

© All rights reserved, 2016.

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