23 January 2013

Snowbound in hell

In a nation gripped by cold weather, the prozaced citizens become nothing but miserable, shivering, coughing, sneezing, and snivelling snot. I am one of them now. I dedicate the poem below to myself. That’s what my therapist recommended anyway.
There is always something else you know
Everything else and this something I chose
Not them, I did
But Lord Skanda decided to not choose me
No sir, not I
You can win in many ways
More ways than one
I chose the wrong way
For Lord Skanda did not walk before me
I choose no enemies
Nor they me
Anger, revenge, that’s not my choice
I live
Therefore, I want to live well
Oh Lord Skanda,
I hope you choose soon
You already have.
I am not proud, please Lord, and let me be, again, proud.
Pride in my loved ones you give
I want to be proud of myself
Give me a choice.
Have you ever been so angry that you teach yourself to control the anger for you know that if you really let go, you wouldn't really know what'll happen...
That's the only reason I believe in God. Not for health or wealth. For keeping me sane. 

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