THE GALLANT WAR TO STAY UPRIGHT
Creaking joints they tell a tale
Of a man whose life is up for sale.
For sale to the highest bidder
For whom the price is right.
Creaking joints they tell the story,
Tearing holes in the black of night.
Limbs that will not move with ease,
A brain awash in its disease.
Daily he must fight the fight,
The gallant war to stay upright.
Falling can be deadly, falling is not cheap.
The ER bill can cripple, wreak havoc with his sleep.
Creaking joints are stiff and rigid
And if he falls the ribs will crack.
Nothing like a sudden stumble,
To leave him flat upon his back.
And if he falls and hits his head,
The blood it spurts like a water hose.
Ruining his new wool coat,
Soiling all his favorite clothes.
Creaking joints they tell a tale,
A bionic man, a walking freak show,
Terrorizing in travail,
Slipping on the ice and snow.
Creaking joints about to give,
The struggle he must face to live.
Day by day he rises and tries with all his might,
To defy the odds of gravity,
The gallant war to stay upright.
-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2010
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Thursday, January 21, 2010
DRIFTING FAR
DRIFTING FAR
Getting oh so close to heaven,
Oh, so close but no cigar.
I have wandered aimlessly, following your star.
Star that always leads to sorrow,
Falls to pain and a sad tomorrow.
Leaves me struck by lightning,
The desperate and the frightened ones,
They join me in my vigilance.
Dodging threats and epithets
In a strange St. Vitus dance,
Praying for a better day,
A rising sun, a second chance.
Getting oh so close to freedom,
Oh so close but no bouquet,
Tripping on the petals you scattered in my way,
Only black and bitter roses that you left me in your wake,
The werewolf meets his silver cross,
The vampire finds his stake.
Getting oh so close to winning,
Oh, so close, yet not the gold.
The silver and the bronze await me,
Yet they leave me strangely cold.
Getting oh so close to heaven,
Oh so close but no cigar,
Sailing on my sea of tears,
Alone and drifting far.
-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2010
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Getting oh so close to heaven,
Oh, so close but no cigar.
I have wandered aimlessly, following your star.
Star that always leads to sorrow,
Falls to pain and a sad tomorrow.
Leaves me struck by lightning,
The desperate and the frightened ones,
They join me in my vigilance.
Dodging threats and epithets
In a strange St. Vitus dance,
Praying for a better day,
A rising sun, a second chance.
Getting oh so close to freedom,
Oh so close but no bouquet,
Tripping on the petals you scattered in my way,
Only black and bitter roses that you left me in your wake,
The werewolf meets his silver cross,
The vampire finds his stake.
Getting oh so close to winning,
Oh, so close, yet not the gold.
The silver and the bronze await me,
Yet they leave me strangely cold.
Getting oh so close to heaven,
Oh so close but no cigar,
Sailing on my sea of tears,
Alone and drifting far.
-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2010
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
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