CURSED PENDULUM

CURSED PENDULUM  Ann June 28th 2010. 

In the waiting, wondering, unknowing of illness 

and disease, our ease, unrest, 

is breathed, each breath a question an exam, 

so long, so patient, forced to be each hour, each minute, 

fantasy brings out its theatre, group of fears, 

disguised in tears, in mocking laughter, 

transformed naturalness becomes a play,

a game, a fight, the sunlight fades,

as into night we step to see, 

the empty vessel.

No explanation, no drink of happiness, 

no celebration, staid in waiting, ever waiting, 

for the verdict, guilty, not guilty, free;

or tied in bondage, ever more to contemplate,

the how, the why, the wherefore me;

not always self inflicted, sadly predicted, 

when heredity afflicts its offspring, smites 

our innocence, consuming our delights,

that one by one shut down,

as sundown tips the hills,

the undulating of our lives, its spills, its last elation,

sinks to earth the gold, the red, the flames, 

the candle wick runs out, our breath, its dies,

misshapen, wax now waned and shrunken.

Yet the spirit glows, and never doubts its worth, 

its voice cries out, its swan-song, beautiful, 

the heart beats on in rhythm with the ocean of this life, 

describes our strife, our emotion, to the world.