Wintering in the same old cold and grey,
waiting for that chance-thing to arise
and say: here, this is how,
revealed in unambiguous guise,
you might now see and act
and leave behind at last
the lies you tell yourself
in order to maintain
this never ending waiting game!
But there is nothing new today.
No novelties arise, just the same
old cold and grey in which
you wear the usual disguise,
revealing this uncomfortable truth,
that for all your life you’ve hid,
dissolved in indecision.
And of all the things, of your own volition,
you might heartily have risked, and done,
you never risked, or did,
a single one.
Six times that death has come for me,
in every case I ducked it.
Thrombosis, stroke and heart attack,
each time I happily lucked it.
A faulty parachute, a boat,
they put my life in danger.
As you can tell my erstwhile friends,
to me death is no stranger.
And so I count each bright new day,
a blessing undeserved,
A stranger’s smile, a child’s quick laugh
brings joy that’s unreserved.
Melancholic maunderings,
depression, grief and sadness
mean naught to me, the gift of life,
just fills my days with gladness.
The end is close, my time is done,
I’ll go on the great adventure.
I’ll comb my hair and wash my face
(please God I’ll keep my denture.)
Don’t whinge and moan or whine and cry,
‘death comes to us too fast.’
Greet each new morn with joy and hope,
today may be the last.
I’d say: good one, which it is, except it also sounds like you’ve been through the mill. Still smiling though, and well done, an inspirational example to us all.