Praising Purgatory

The Poetry.
The Voice.
The Song.
The Shelton
Praising Purgatory

What shoulda been bright morning beams,
Snuck up a grey fog.
Coulda been the right side of bed.
Too soon to land on wrong.

Grab my caffeine lifeline
In a form middle-class-to-poor.
Cheap, unsweet, lukewarm, it bores.
Bland as the day before.

The birds just making noise.
A grown kid bored with his toys.
Music my sunrise sponge.
Need tunes, hear years of grunge.

C 1
I’m praising purgatory.
At best life ain’t so bad.
Wish I told a different story.
Not glad, or sad, just a slight mad.

And fine times appear.
Are gone before they’re hear.
And bits I try to save.
Like manna meant to fade.

Rainy air.
Sky still dry.
I’d love to love to love to love.
All we do here’s try.

Heavens above.
Only angels fly.
Now a wince
And blood-curling sighs.

Put a tab on the timeline.
A grand celebration day.
It came and went, eternity spent
On soup with cardboard taste.

P 2
Our words just taking breath.
Parties just leave a mess.
By noon annoyed and outta blame.
Midnight strikes ache the same.

I’m praising purgatory.
At best life ain’t so bad.
Wish I told a different story.
But it’s better than the hell I had.

B 2
The fine times appear.
Are gone before they’re here.
Treasures I save.
Like manna meant to fade.

P2
C1
B2