It seems that I've long lost the war of stoicism
Against the resilient troops of my own indulgences
That is, I no longer find it in me to force my dear self
To limp and stagger over the impassable trials of inconvenience
One of the perks of old age
Having gotten the apathy of a child that doesn't care for the world and the wisdom of a sage
Passed through the alternating seasons of
Learned sorrow and hushed rage
The self is of meek shoulders, see
It had to learn to drill its way through the walls of sullen circumstances
Like a rat scrambling for dear life through the rotten wood of a sunken ship
A "No" tastes less sour on the tongue, now
It scratches less harshly on the roof of one's throat
Lies come chaperoned with qualm
Truths rest well under linen and pout one's cushions
For a good night's sleep, quiet and calm
Black and white make peace over boundaries
Shadows are more tall than mean, you stop running away from yours and would rather hide in it from sordid encounters
And light is for kind thoughts, only kind thoughts and balsamic poetry
When enough years have passed you learn that meanness has been dwelling in our marrows since birth
Meanness and a readiness for shedding pretenses, like withered Orchid blossoms
Strange, I have no children but I would understand how a loving mother could bloody her hands to keep her own, sound
Because this body, this face, my skin, struggling to fend the surfacing scars of lost wars
And the permanent ripples of time
These little windows of peace in the kingdom of my mind and these tired bones, shrinking under the weight of living
Are all that I got left in this fray
Thou shalt not get another piece
Of me.
-Rain
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