What need have I to write it knowing
That my life has become the poem
Humans snicker and sneer
They cry and they fear
And say I wish I'd gotten to know him
What use have I for tragic tears
When my lungs have filled with air
When my mind is sharp and clear
When my soul resides right here
Present day, Present time
My wallowing strikes a fine line
Between proving it was once real
And proving that I like to whine
A challenge, remaining troubled
When the weather is so fine