Featured art by Robin Isely

 

 

 

 

Disappointment is an old friend of mine
This fly in the ointment
Is seen by the many as a bittermost sign
Will not see fit to quit until such a time as I am fit to resign

 

Have walked through the valley of the shadow of death
Done so time after time
In depressingly gradual decline
Yet, somehow still optimistic
That one day a ray of hope may see fit to shine

 

Ignoring the statistics
Disposed to look on the bright side of life
Indeed, I was very much raised with this in mind
For some the glass will forever be half empty
I am simply not that way inclined

 

Though my view may very well be holistic
A clean bill of mental health is just not realistic
And I flat refuse to grow bitter and twisted
Assume despondent position
In league with the downbeat
The pessimistic

 

Stating my case clearly
Over and over
Yet still I am held in contempt
All those around me appear to be in favor
So why pray tell do I find myself exempt
Suffering all manner of indiscreet discretions
Gracing dumb answers to the same stupid questions
Again and again
By those all too quick to enslave and condemn

 

Culpability and blame
It is always the same
And I can barely stay afloat from the weight of them
Common folk just so quick to name and to shame
Judge those who, in actual fact, have been betrayed by them

 

Reportedly loved though with most distinct condition
Not permitted to move on unless I sign their petition
Waving me off down the road to perdition
As though it is I who have forsaken them

 

Will they ever wake up
See the damage they’re inflicting
Or is it simply the done thing to constantly wind up feeling the victim
Can they not spot the symptoms
Of a man who has fallen through the cracks in the system
Penalized and paralyzed for just too much wisdom
Ever waiting for the punchline when it’s
Ha! Ha! Ha!
Stick him

 

Still I freely bleed as it’s a warrior’s noble deed
To don game face as they place their stigma on the literate martyr
Called manipulative as they think I’m playing games here
No fault of my own that my synapse speed is quite simply faster

 

I’m extra perceptive, you see
Come on now, like you weren’t aware of that one
Need your wits about you when you’re brandished the black sheep
If you do not wish to end up on the slag heap

 

Forget your dismay
Fret not of your feelings
They’re doing just fine on the backseat
Tell you what, why not go straight to bloody hell and we’ll even call you a taxi

 

Disappointment is no old friend of mine
I’m sick and fucking tired of towing the line of others misguided design
When my opinion counts for nothing
And my writ of execution has already been signed and fucking countersigned

 

Yea, I walk through the valley of the shadow of death
Have done so time after time
Just another sadistic statistic
But still inexplicably remaining optimistic

 

For there is one single ray of hope left to abide
One bona fide reason for this black sheep to shine
To be seen
To be seen
To be finally seen
Through the very same pair of kind eyes

 

 

 

 

 

Richard Charles Stevens

 

Keeper of The Crimson Quill

 

 

 

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