It is a gift

It is a gift

Given to wastefulness.

It can disappear

In the sour taste of

A broken promise

Whispered in the ear

Of a stranger,

Before its significance

Is understood.

Each moment spent

Chasing the devil’s dream,

Playing the odds

That will always be stacked

In favour of the house,

Hitting liquor hard,

Losing your shirt

On the turn of a card,

Trading friends

For a place at the table,

Picking the crumbs

From the kitchen floor,

You never saw

What lay behind the door.

Instead you played the fool

To court success,

Hid from the truth

That your life was a mess

And even when

You woke in the

Cold light of another grey day,

Head propped against

A dirty bathroom sink,

Itching to taste

Another drink

To help you remember

The night before,

You still never knew

What living was for.

And in the drift

In and out of the daydream,

Barely conscious

Of the reason for your fall,

You recall a story,

Barely listened to as a child,

When you were having fun

And running wild,

Life is a gift

Should you choose to accept it,

That is never wrapped up

Neatly with a bow.

It does not come with balloons,

Bells and whistles in tow.

It is not ready assembled

All set and ready to go,

You need to build it

Yourself,

Without a manual.

It is not a perennial,

Not even a hardy annual.

But working it out

Would take time

And that was not something

You wanted to spend,

Not with so many divergent

Distractions along the way,

Bright lights and cheap thrills

That held you in sway

For so long

You failed to appreciate

The significance

Of your discarded gift,

Until this moment, today

And finally, you understand

When it is all but too late

That the cards

Were never yours

To deal out or play,

They were always held

Close to the chest

From you and all

But the best of the rest,

By the even hands

Of fate.