The unpredictable yaw of rolling seas,
as in life pummels us from side to side
randomly dictating its capricious ways
without logic grips and escapes with our lives
Death, like the ghost of Christmas past,
comes and expresses a tale of coldness and desolation
under the guise of light, the dues it extracts from the living
accumulate like wrinkles on our faces the years pile on
The uncertainty of pandemics sends people into despair
mental frenzy engulfs,
people wring their hands and worry
what happens if I get sick and lose my income?
At night I hear the sound of eighteen wheeler trucks rumbling
On the blacktop toward companies that make copious profits
past the foothills where coyotes cry nature's lament
exacerbating my approach to a precarious and worrisome future
Sometimes, I feel like a watermelon cut in half
exposed to the desert heat slowly drying up
or a taco at Christmas time or a paraplegic in a footrace
exposed in those places where I don’t belong
Leisure time for the working stiff is so elusive
yet now all I’ve got is time and plenty of it,
but there’s no leisure in it only worry
and does not give me needed rest
The yaws of life
seldom deviate from its variant course
but like ships at sea rising and falling in a tempest
our minds proceed at an ambiguous yet dangerous speed
With our hearts frozen in a delirium of past disappointments
they vanish the happy times into the ether of regrets
still we cling to those cherished happy time memories
when Life was more accepting of our youthful indiscretions
Our Ship of Life moves predictably toward an unknown horizon
unsteadily shaking us from side to side, up and down
like loose apples bobbing in an ocean
with our paths uncertain unfolding as we hold on

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