Be sure of what you want, my child,
Be holy goddamn sure.
If it’s not YOU, not what YOU want
Then some far-distant day
You’ll look down at wrinkled crepey skin
And belly gone to fat
Scars from the cuts with surgeons’ knives
Veins bulging from their load.
You’ll stand — not tall, but stooping now
If hips will even work —
And mirror-stare at face unknown
That’s burgled all your soul
And left you empty tattered box,
A box of nothing left.
Life’s a bitch, they say; and that’s true,
But Time’s queen bitch of all.
A slow relentless trudge you walk
A bulleting race behind
A foggy cloud of maybe so
Is all you’ll see ahead.
Time steals it all and then she laughs,
While bleeding back is turned.
If you barter all your dreams and wants
For what “you ought to” be,
The ones who “ought” and “should” you blind
Will simply walk away
And leave you shattered, dazed, worn out,
Not seeing what they’ve done.
Or worse, not caring, worse by far.
It guts you there at last
To know you gave it all away
For their cold shuttered heart
Yanked now from weak bone-fingered grasp.
From you, left standing there.
Alone, alone, with no one left
Pretending still to care
And dreams you have no strength to dream
Smoke on the winds of time
Blow farther, farther, fade away
You, crumbling, left behind.
Give no one access to your dreams,
Let no one dry them out,
No ‘should’, no ‘ought’, no ‘be this now’
To twist you to their will.
At bitter end, we’re each alone
With self, just self, you see.
And no one else will share the blame
For your pure stolen dreams.
Be sure of what you want, my child.
Be holy goddamned sure.