Halftime

I am at the half of my life

And wifeless; not strifeless

And it shows

As I forage through the throws

Of life and it’s tribulations

And on trial for why I don’t know

But Oh! How it hinders my wonts

And in the cinders of my past I find

A rind of the fruits of my labours

And squeeze from it all that I can

in the hopes

That the dopes o’er which I mope

Will succumb and soon go.

There is life beyond asperity

And clarity beyond

And my yawnings are but the gage

Of my tries and my age

And the page that I’m at

Of this sordid story.

I’m Sorry.

‘Till the day that I die

I’ll live and I’ll try

The life that I choose

And you’ll lose for trying to stop me

From hopping on the gravy train

That I vainly proclaim

Is mine to ride.