Cadence

{ Saturday, August 18, 2012 }
Running with "The Scientist" in my ear,
And I can't help but wonder
Why it wasn't easy this time.

And I marvel at the sky and at the
Hands that created it that you
Simply cannot believe in,

And I can't help but ponder
What His hand is in this abstract piece
Titled "Life,"

And why it is more full of smudges
And erred brushstrokes for me than most folks.

I contemplate mortality,
And why I feel so weak,
Yet I'm hanging on
While others are hanging by a thread.

I feel spoiled and dirty,
Looking into the mirror with disdain.
Notoriously getting off on my own words
And everything in my skull that follows.

So I give more and more –
Everything but my flesh –
Until I am a skeleton;
An unrequited corpse.

Lying alone in a cold,
Stony grave of hopeful words
And squelched heartbeats.

And I can't help but wonder
Why it wasn't easy this time.