So much of life is at the edge,
stuck on the stoop or on the ledge;
just talking to hear our voice speak,
we shout to stop appearing weak.
We gather friends around ourselves
from minions, imps, and fellow elves;
and muddle through from week to week.
We shout to stop appearing weak.
Through years of this and other things,
more up and down, and ’round we swing.
There’s no reward for being meek.
We shout to stop appearing weak.
Amongst the rabble we create
to build ourselves worth and estate,
we’ve grown nose-blind to our own reek.
We shout to stop appearing weak.
So much of time is spent and gone
with not much left to linger on.
What’s left of us is some cruel freak;
we shout to stop appearing weak.
And now what energy is left
we waste by feeling lost, bereft;
afraid of being an antique,
we shout to stop appearing weak.
What’s worse, we learn by finding fault,
our flavor soured by too much salt;
our mighty roar becomes a squeak:
we shout to stop appearing weak.
So many years, so many miles;
we just remember tears, not smiles,
’til we are judged by one critique:
we shout to stop appearing weak.
07 MAY 2025
© 2025, John Litzenberg. All rights reserved.