Down the Drain
We hold on to our pain, to our fear and our loss.
We wear them with pride like an old albatross,
Or like Marley's thick chains as they wrapped round his neck,
And he pondered a life he so willfully wrecked.
For the suds in the basin go clockwise they say,
But for those in Australia, the opposite way,
Like the bugs to the zappers or mice to the cheese,
We think we can all do whatever we please.
But your life's not forgiving of little mistakes.
When you think that your're winning it just ups the stakes.
So that when you are up you must know you will fall,
Yet when you are down on the plains of Transvaal,
You avoid the hyenas with slathering chops,
And you give it your best and you pull out the stops,
Till at last you have driven through fear and the pain,
Then you find that you're back on the upside again.
Thus life circles clockwise at least in the north,
And time, so relentlessly, nudges us forth,
As around and around we remorselessly spin,
To our graves where we wish we could do it again.
Please login or register
You must be logged in or register a new account in order to
Login or Registerleave comments/feedback and rate this poem.