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Once upon an eve of sorrow, while I anguished of tomorrow,
About the two score ten and four years that I'd wasted of my life.
As I wallowed, in self-pity, irritated by the city,
No companion dog or kitty as I fondled my sharp knife -
“So ridiculous,” I whimpered as I fondled my sharp knife –
“Truly this, is not a life.”
Oh, so clearly, I recall it, I was near an alcoholic,
Bowels racked as though with colic, drinking more to drown my strife.
How I ached for a quick ending, grown so tired of pretending
My taxed brain a message sending – sending visions of each wife -
Instant replays of the charades that I’d lived with each new wife -
Surely there is more to life.
And the booming jungle rhythms, headlights split by raindrop prisms,
Keeping thoughts awake no sleeping, creaking floor throughout the night.
As I paced my sick heart pounding, all the memories resounding
Of my futile, lost existence as I stroked that wicked knife -
With diminishing resistance I did contemplate that knife –
This has been a piss-poor life.
I reached out and took my Bible, seeking any quick revival
Any chance of soul survival, any glimpse of brief respite.
Opened to Ecclesiastes, read some pages on my weak knees
Wondering whether God would hear pleas of my craven sorrowed plight-
Surely He was tired of listening to my craven sorrowed plight -
I’d been praying all my life.
From my boyhood I’d been praying, never listening only saying,
All the promises I thought He wanted whispered in the night.
“Please forgive me I’ve been sinful,” ten thousand times He’d heard a binful
Always followed by backsliding, hiding new sins in the night-
Always weak I was the craven, hiding new sins in the night-
Such the nature of my life.
For eternity no answer, silence baneful like a cancer,
Then a voice reverberated in the now quiescent night.
Well, at first I thought “I’m dreaming! or “It’s only Satan scheming,”
Surely I have been forgotten, seldom ever done things right –
All these years I’ve been so rotten, never ever got it right-
Would He give me back my life?
But I listened to words spoken, final gesture, final token,
It was time for me to open up and offer Him my life.
No more lies to seek redemption, now my soul was in contention
And there was no need for mention that this was my last respite-
I’d drained the well too many times, this was my last respite-
I must forfeit fleshly life.
Yet, I’m craven still the coward, as I pace away night hours,
Mental anguish still devours all the substance of my life.
Even though I knew my mission, I have failed in the commission
And reverted to positions where I favor that sharp knife-
Where I flagrantly consider that alternative my knife-
It’s no sacrifice, this life.
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