Castaway

A man walks forward head held high

Makes decisions though they be hard

Embraces the pain of life till it passes

Beauty and joy is loved for what it is

 

He doesn’t hold to her 

With the grip of madness

With his power 

He speeks not to control

He lets go of what he must

Though his insides 

Feel hollow and empty

 

The day is cold and dreary

It cuts into his bones 

As he walks forward

the warmth of the sun 

Will come again

He will remain his own friend

 

We are with ourselves for a long haul

Years of pain, scars and sorrow

Festive days and moments of self-awareness

I hold to myself with a strong grip

 

Without his vices 

A man will squirm 

Like a worm

Illusions of security 

He is a 

Castaway

forced to confront the bitter truth

of the moments of wretchedness in life

 

February 11, 1990