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Image for the poem Strike While The Iron Is Hot

Strike While The Iron Is Hot

Cuz while ya steel got
moxie, don't nix chance if only a dot
before death finds
    flesh rotting alot.

A self-actualized fringe benefit
     as I racked up
     orbitz round sun -
     with increased measured,
     (albeit neglected) ragged, and
     shot thru tattered (turn shroud) -
     regarding chronological yardage
brought to my dimming wattage -

sputtering third eye blind, sans
     hindsight surveying extensive
     emotionally frenzied groveling with
     a lifetime penitential wreckage,
whence urgent critical (update)
     foisted upon formerly entrenched
     hermetically sealed voyage -
sequestered self wrought fallout,

     viz long stretches of
     time irretrievably gone with the wind
     found me averse toward
     commingling with village -
peopled within sin king
     precincts of Lake Woebegone
     joyus kneaded livingsocial
     natives, now visa

     vis (nee this past
     and present atheist)
     discovered the healing power
     of powder milk biscuits,
     when accommodated within Norwegian
     bachelor farmer vicarage),
qua pained obligation now
     imposed kickstarted mandate

     to pay dying wage
clearly written along,
     the sub weighted psyche walls
     (over time) easily read
     across my wrinkled visage,
where former cumulative
     years of existence
     pitched yours truly

     figuratively teetering upon
     precipice of abyss gave vantage
     written in telltale creases
     countenance spelling umbrage,
against me - asper tonnage
     schlepping psychological Matthew
     Scott Harris "baggage,"
wrought from decades

     worth of uncultivated tillage
cuz n'er did I gather rosebuds...
     during prime mortal teenage
stretch, thus present
     day agonizing suffrage
yawning chasm miserably houses
     bleak (Dickensian) testimony,
     sans recovered anorexic

     (NO...NOT... NEVER
     bulimic), but feebly
     endured desultory stage
punctuated quasi (moat)
     towed riddled rattle trap ship
     of state into deadly scrimmage
defies propped up
     moxie succombing unrelenting
 
     weathering, unforgiving savage
nasty, brutal and short sabotage,
wherein futile - short
     changed growh opportunities
     forfeited developmental stage
opportunities introverted
     vehemence doth rage.
Written by george4man2box (matthew scott harris)
Published
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