Months of Moist

crawled into room twenty seventeen

palms bruised and knees swollen

knapsack over his head

a nip away he is dead

 

so the sunbeam strikes annually

people breathing casually. But he

goes into his lungs, and plugs them to his nose

sniffs a handful of scent under the garden rose

 

the world stinks of a drunken old man

In a cheap bar, filled with talibans & no fan

why do we lose sleep or ever weep

human beings to the world are sheep

 

he crawled, through months of moist

through muds and murderous frost

it wasn’t winter, he had his jackets on

he stays ready, come rain or the sun

 

awake at night, angel and demon

are they listening to his summon

or to the sound of full bellies snore

he talked to them far from ashore

 

piteous people are united by prayers

except victims of lack of prayers

& he will never listen to your pain

but sentence you to your vain

 

potayto potahto, he said

I will die afraid if I am afraid

walk my way since I am on my way

be ready when the world is ready to hay

 

crawl of 365 days begins with a plan

the difference, between a dream & a plan

big men plan to dream, fulfill their dream

small men dream to plan, it’s all a dream

 

but what’s a crawling man in a rush world

not allowed to dream or try to sow a seed

hope is for those who live in the race

advice the crawling man just to hide his face

 

365 days on, he strolls to room twenty eighteen

his jackets on and his knees sheen

has not won the brawl, but lived the race

it wasn’t by his grace or by his disgrace

 

asked how he caught up with the trail

he thanked the Lord for riling a man so frail

others said Alas, men changed his fate

He remembers for sure, room full of his mate

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