Back at the keys

The kettle completes its task
of taking water and limescale
to somewhere around one hundred degrees
leaving the serene sound of silence
in the room and everywhere around it.
The occasional cough from next door’s kitchen
mixes with the sighs of Sarah in the bedroom
who has chosen tonight
to be lost in another optional cage
of disdain, trapped rage and distaste
for my presence.

One cannot put a foot right,
so it’s easier for both of us
if I sit here and type it out
with my fine whiskey
and cigarettes.

Now, whilst in exactly the right place
I should stress a few things I must not say aloud:
We are often grabbed by moods
of varying sentiments,
but it seems the human creature
has developed the dangerous habit
of embracing those that cause discomfort
and letting the rest float by
without recognising that they should be savoured.

For this fact, I am perplexed…
Confused to the point of worry
as I remember the pedestrians
with woe in their eyes.
I make, what I consider, an educated guess
in the direction of most of their weary looks
being caused by little more than the presence of rain;
a wonderfully refreshing bout of nature
in my opinion, of course.

One spends a lot of time being lost
as the days pass by,
a mixture of too quickly and too slowly,
but we should try our damnedest to recall
that we have a lot of say
when it comes to our psychological responses
to our waking lives.
Please, and I must not ask this aloud,
remember that the cages
are for you to climb in to,
and even then, there is no lock and key.

I myself, am guilty of brooding,
and hopefully I will remember this
the next time I find myself amongst
an unpleasant cocktail of murderous
and suicidal thoughts.
We are much more adept
than our mood swings give us credit,
our true weakness
is forgetting this fact
as the laughter we think we seek
is torn away by not much more
than the frustration a child undergoes
when learning to tie its shoelaces.