Flood Barrier -14/7/14
What is there now, to be taken at the flood?
My life is bound in shallow and though pleasing streams
I mourn there seems no larger sea for me to sail or find new land
I'm at that time of life when, while not OLD as such
I realise there's more behind me than there is ahead
And daring deeds take less than second-place to smaller acts of empathy
Am I condemned only just to drip away the stone around my neck?
But not divert the river; much less tame the sea
Like King Canute I try to turn the tide - yet still I find my riverbed
Is there any consolation in the capacity for good?
Then it should surely not be metered out or measured
In such short supply.
Why did I write this?
I'm frustrated. I'm tired of finding doors slammed in my face. I feel like the invisible woman and so bloody middle-aged. I just want to be able to make use of my experiences. It may not make total sense of everything but at least the pain would not be wasted. I don't have the time to twat about, because nobody does. Is it so wrong to want more? My workplace sucks, but that's ok, I can live with that because that is why they pay me. God knows I wouldn't go near if I wasn't paid to do so. What is grinding my gears is that there is so much more to me, stuff I believe could help others but no way of harnessing it, utilising it, making a contribution to the world. The world is not interested and the realisation of how small, how insignificant, how pointless life seems is seriously boiling my irn bru.
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