I think about my yesterdays,
and analyse, in many ways,
the times I’ve wasted,squandered,lost,
and won’t get back, at any cost.
I think about the social rules -
the ones I followed like a fool -
like kindness, love, a helping hand;
and caring for my fellow man.
What was the point of my concern?
Who stands here now the table’s turned?
And as my shoulder starts to dry,
who’ll be my crutch on which to cry?
I think about those so-called friends,
who claim they’re with you to the end.
The ones that steal the best of you,
then quickly fade like morning dew.
“You’ve helped me out so very much.
I’ll phone you soon, let’s keep in touch”.
“Oh, hate to hear you’re low and sad,
but listen to the day I’ve had!”
Shallow words are all I hear.
No one has time to lend an ear.
But I have learnt - and won’t forget -
to think of me, without regret.
I’ll focus on tomorrow’s gift,
and fight to make my spirit lift.
With every breath I’ll quell this
but should I fail, I’ll try again.
I won’t perform and be a clown,
to raise you up when you are down.
I’m done with kindness, love and care,
so seek me not, I won’t be there.
Call it selfish, call it ruse.
Call it what the fuck you choose .
But now I’m whom I daren’t forsake,
Lest be that final step I’ll take.
P. A. Davies 2023.