Wednesday, October 1, 2014

"Slogging on"

Every day I trudge
My tired, aching body the judge
And I am the criminal on trial
To say I live in freedom is a denial.
I feel as if trapped in an iron clasp
That will never shake its horrible grasp
This fatigue, this disease
That will come and go as it please. 
I see others every day, filled with vim and verve 
If they weren't so frayed and dead; that would strike a nerve.
To slog on unfeeling is my daily dread
Sometimes I wonder if I am already dead.
I am told I have purpose and have meaning
But is that really true, and if so, why from this truth am I not gleaning? 
Until I can find some meaning, some drive
It will be difficult to be alive.
But every day I must live and keep my head held high
Even if I feel dead inside
For I will never fall again.
I made a promise to those I love
And to the greater forces above.
To slog on is my daily dread.
But it is my reality.
It will never be my fatality.

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