I Had My Chance (Poetic Prose)
The love of the rich burned smell of grass and weeds and leaves on breezy days, a wind rustled through a cornfield, serried clouds in the sky. I have cut and slashed for a pound of glory, equal to that. Forgetting pert near everyone and everything: it is hard to be at war with the world, only to be condemned—condemned for madness, for want of living, tasting all of life.
The secret—if indeed there is a secret—is not to let passing humors become your end…or diabolical lovers retard your growth; plug your ears during youth to vague delicious thoughts, before you spend years in vain in pursuit, only to be undone (do not let the mind be paralyzed by small success, that prowls in a praetors eyes)
I had my chance,” my second-self, my minds eye, that hidden little creature somewhere inside, told me. “Now,” it said, “you’re just waiting to die!”
No: 2926 (4-4-2011)
