Rage Against Dying
Every second of every day
I have to convince myself that there’s a reason to stay,
hanging from the edge by my pinkies,
about to tumble down this cliff side like a broken slinky,
reaching for my kids, my music, my words,
the branches I’m hanging from until my will to live stirs;
my anger, resentment, pain, spite
that keeps me alive from the morning to the lonely night.
I fight and fight, white knuckles bleeding.
I scream into the abyss: today I’m not leaving.
And I run and punch and block and kick.
Beat my demons down with sticks
burning with the fires of my angry soul,
raging with flames and burning hot coals
until I simmer down and walk the night
like a caged tiger, a dragon, a Phoenix in flight.