As my birthday does approach

I find in myself deep thought does encroach

Walking around barefoot in the shadows of the me

Trying to avoid those places where the me does charge a fee…

Is life worth continuation

Especially living in this wayward nation

Where even a thought requires a card of ration

This I cannot end here, so nix yet my eventual summation…

Seems at this time of life, I am of worry prone

Each year I do gain another to live

If unread or reviewed or not received well

Could it be me, my lack of brain

Or could it be just my inexpensive cologne…

Another day passed

Trying to review my past

Some day’s I am not into humor

Perhaps on another level it is only but a brain tumor…

This may not be poetry, dear poets

But from the soul of the mind it comes & does grow

I do not write this longhand, nor do I let it verbally flow

Though flowing it does one way or the other

Through my fingertips attached to my keyboard

Maybe through my hands to my fingertips

I should put them all ten under water to of them smother…

© ed  8/1/2008