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Why the Light?

Why The Light?An old man in a dry month, he lacks rageEven though his life’s book nears its last pageAnd his body finds ways these arid daysTo fade and fail and otherwise decay.Hey, old man, why so bland? Isn’t it unfairThat life’s blessings always end in despair?Why do you sit there like a stalk of wheatWaiting for the scythe swing of life’s defeat?Weary of orange sunsets and bluebirds?Or is it blinding fear too raw for words?It’s not fair that your bag of blood and bonesSags here; swells there; loses its teeth and moansOver lost loves and lust turned to dustWhile free radicals blight it all with rust.Old man ask at least why we must go bustWhy waste such light when we always combust?

Why the light?



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