I die a bit more every day
the plight, I know, for all
but in youth we did not feel as much
the spring never thinks of fall.

what loneliness is tapping at the door?
grief and worry all ready sit by my fire.
Must all the shades of sadness come
to sit by me and conspire?

I live scarred and scared
each night longer than before
the rising sun more frightening
each new day, a rattle in my core.

So incurable a disease is fear
with a hold like the Burr Woman
controls you, lives with you, eating what you eat
swaying your every action.

I die a bit more every day
with a weight on my shoulders and back
like Atlas I hold the world,
like the hebrews I build the pyramids
each day, living in fear of the next fall of the lash
and my knees get knobby and my eyes go blind
things begin to look go dark, then black
a tunnel to the vast beyond
and I hope and pray each living day
that the light at that passage end
is being tended by some greater being
who can help me remember
that after every fall, there eventually comes the spring.

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