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.