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My Holiday
by
Michael Faircloth
I sit here admiring this bulge below my chin
Pondering how it has swelled to look like a fifty pound hen
It would seem that the bird I ate
Has gown at an exponential rate
Now I suffer all my glory
Stuck in my chair, this disproportioned boy
Not knowing why I ate so much
Still thinking about turkey for tomorrow’s lunch
Holidays leave clear marks
Memories battle to see who starts
No longer distracted by my duties
My mind recalls the things that obscure life’s beauty
Not enough diversion to avoid the past
Happy and sad battle to be last
Family seems to disappear without warning
Lost forever and though of every morning
Sometimes it is hard to face conviction
Understanding reality and not living fiction
Earthly habitation is always too short
Departed ones no longer at port
Hopes often sail away
Tears are the price we pay
I suppose the world would over-fill
If we deprived death from its thrills
Holidays now are refocused
There is no magical hocus-pocus
I see my children loving this world
I’ve been given a perfect boy and girl
This must be why I work so hard
Dealing with life’s cards
Knowing how quickly changes come
Making certain I see the sun
The holidays consume my thoughts
This full stomach will not let me walk
On the couch I now lay
Confident that in this world I want to stay
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