This Thing Called Me
There are times when my soul is like the placid pond
And there are times when it boils like the raging sea
I know not where these emotions come from
Only that they inhabit this thing called me
There are times when the joy in me abounds
And there are times I thrash about in despair
At times on my face a smile is to be found
But more times than not, sorrow is there
Of worries and woes there seems no end,
Of regrets and sorrow there is an endless supply
The days when I cannot find a friend
And the nights when I lie quietly and cry
What power and force they exert on me
To toss my soul about so effortlessly
And dash my hopes and plans and schemes
Till so precious little is left of this thing called me
There are times I see a calm in this raging sea
And hope swells at the thought of a brief reprieve
From those relentless waves of adversity
So I may take stock of this thing called me
But like a mirage in a sun parched and barren land
It’s a false hope born of frustrated dreams
For each time I rise it is by my own hand
No one reaches out for this thing called me
How long can one fight that which knows no fatigue
What does it matter in the end how far I go
How does one measure progress against eternity
Does it really matter when I finally let go
There are times when it really does seem
That the clouds will leave and the sun will shine
When grief gives way to the joy deep within me
Oh how brief are the moments when happiness is mine
And so I fight knowing I cannot win
To stay afloat on this perilous sea
And dwell on the knowledge of the impending end
Of this thing called me
--The French Knight