Endurance

 

A plummeting mood while summoning food,

I find myself bored to follow the hoard

It’s not that I’m lonely, displeased, or depressed

I’ll not cry “if only,” but reason might suggest

That absence of longing would make one content

As lack of belonging does hardly present

A challenge to ego, a confidence hit—

I care not where “we” go, for I’ll always fit

So long as I know that I’ve nothing to fear

I guess I write so that it’s something I hear

And as for the style, the excuse, I suppose

Is that after a while it’s no use to write prose

‘Cause who’s gonna read it, some diary thief?

Some demon in need of my personal grief?

My whining and woe, my lurching and leaning,

My pining to go on searching for meaning?

 

Ah, the meal has arrived, so for its due measure

I’ll feel more alive, another new pleasure.

Addressing endurance, as others have passed

I can say with assurance that this one will last.