It's been a rough week, and not to admit to being sometimes discouraged is to give that discouragement a hidden power.
There's so much I still want to do,
to hear and feel and see,
but now the worst is coming true,
and there's no escape for me.
There's too much puke and too much. pain,
and I see what now betides;
growths in limbs and lungs and brain,
and my left foot only slides.
Somewhere there was a place for me,
a future and bright shining hope
but faded now's the victory
and above me swings the rope,
noose fashioned by the devil's hand
through years I did not understand.
Now, dear fortunate (?) reader, you get a SECOND sonnet, based upon Five Minute Friday's word prompt for the week, 'rescue'.
It seems to me the movie biz,
if it wants profits big and bold,
should recognize that rescue is
the greatest story ever told.
Gandhi saved a nation;
Maria saved the Captain's heart
from lonely self-immolation
(and tipped the Nazis' apple cart!).
Luke saved that far-off Galaxy
even as Darth Vader's son,
and it really seems to me
John Wayne saved almost everyone.
Wide-eyed surprise this shouldn't bring
for we're rescued by a murdered King.
The 'rescue' poem took ten minutes to write, but since I'm waiting on a phone with Mongo-sized fingers at 3AM, I hope you'll give me a pass on the 'five minute' bit. Also, the phone's fond of quietly changing my words when I'm not looking. Glories of the Modern Age, yeah?
In the absence of music (Blogger won't let me link a video on my phone), here are a couple of things pictures of Sylvia, my blog's public face, on an ice-cream run.