Swing Again

Beginning are always completed, 

Sticky, 

Drawn-out, 

They meander slowly through the mind 

Getting hung up on every bump 

Caught even in the smallest pothole. 

 

They never stay where you want them, 

They bounce around like a cake fed 6 year old at a birthday party, 

Rarely do they go where intended 

Either burning out to quickly 

Or never getting started. 

 

Ending are not, 

They are sudden, 

Come at you head on, 

Rarely cloaked in darkness 

They stand out for the world to see. 

 

No mixed messaging 

Just the impact and its jolt, 

No loss for words, 

No should have 

Could have, 

Its to late for all that. 

 

I met a junkie looser the other day, 

4 kids and happy to get high with them once their old enough,

Do you even hear yourself speaking, 

Can you look yourself in the mirror; 

Are you just creating more pimples on the asshole of society.

 

She talked and her mouth was filled with excuses 

Not solutions, 

Reasons why not, 

Void of reasons why can. 

 

Better a working looser 

At least you have a chance to make something of yourself. 

She also stole my fucking pen… 

 

Sometimes you can spend years waiting for the rain to come 

In the end it never does, 

No spring morning waiting, 

Water drops fat hanging off the new growth, 

Till the hard barren ground, 

Each strike with the hoe breaks up the earth, 

Swing and swing again, 

Swing until your arms grow tired 

Then swing again, 

Let the arms blister and break 

Swing again, 

Swing and swing until you fall, 

Feeding the ground. 

 

Defeat only comes for the defeated.