Is it Fact?
Or Fiction.
Some sing in the shower
Whilst others pluck the vine.
To slip out of the mundane.
My preference is rhyme.
When my mind is crowded
With dark clouds of grey
I put it into verse
To make it go away.
Once written, it’s forgotten.
It loses its momentum.
Even a stinging remark
is tricked out of its venom.
Is it fact or fiction?
How much can my mind take?
I’d instead take a canoe.
And carouse out on the lake.
Go off on a spree
Then write it down in verse.
And have a free license.
To disburse the perverse.
Now I’m getting older.
And often forget this and that.
Like where I put the car keys
My wallet and the cat.
I prefer then to have excuses.
And call it blissful ignorance.
That I’m in a euphoric state of mind
And they are exhibiting indifference.
I now have what I wished for
Fewer neurons and grey matter
And as the hearing disappears.
All I hear is distant chatter.
©
David Rudder
2024
Thank you for reading this piece and my poetry.
