Spitting Feathers

Spitting Feathers

Caught up in this scrap,

A ruck, a fight with life itself,

I feel exhausted and almost beaten,

Shall I fail under this pressure ?

When is it acceptable to quit ?

To accept defeat, to say under duress,

“I just don't give a shit.”

Lead a good life, and for what ?

To be brought down under illness,

Suffer an untimely exit in anger,

Of the indiscriminate soul reaper.

God give me courage,

To see a brighter new enduring dawn.

A place where love never fails,

To bring beauty to its earthly form.

My own vitriol for this loss,

Is like an overwhelming storm.

I flail and grab anything handy,

For why should my soul be torn ?

Ire is a handy tool never,

It has brought me only distress.

When could I have conceived better,

Where my heart be softly caressed.

I saw flesh yielding to disease,

And could not fight with it.

In a moment of delusion here,

Thought my love could heal it.

Then in a whispering of the light,

Candle flame extinguished forever.

And you my dear brother,

Accept that we, have now lost this fight.

'Richard'