Alackaday

Sun, 07/20/2014 - 23:21 -- BennyB

Location

Oh, Alackaday!

Is what I say-

Every, single, day.

To the sound of the drum

Of melancholy I succumb,

As I continue to stray

From the society that hath betray:

Oh, Alackaday!

 

Oh, Alackaday!

Alack for no charisma-

To keep away the stigma.

Alack for no magnetism-

To resolve the inner cataclysm.

Alack for no contentment-

To defeat the resentment.

Alack for no felicity-

To absolve the toxicity.

Alack for no premonition-

To resurrect the ambition.

Alack for no ingenuity-

To realize the ambiguity.

Alack for no aplomb-

To rid the inward bomb.

Alack for no tenacity-

To shake off the mendacity.

Oh, Alackaday!

 

Oh, Alackaday!

So then I must ponder,

As I contemplate of days yonder:

What actions, do I, take?

Do I sacrifice who I am and make

Myself into just another fake?

Do I forgo who I am and diminish

Myself to get to the finish?

Do I relinquish and transform

Myself into the prescribed norm?

Oh, Alackaday!

 

Oh, Alackaday!

No.

I cannot bestow

That kind of satisfaction

To the wretched distraction

That has plagued my life

Since the beginning of this strife-

To the rampant banality

Of which I seem to be another fatality-

Oh, Alackaday!

 

Oh, Alackaday!

But really, there is no solution!

The ever constant diminution

Cannot be surpassed

Like problems of the past.

For my being, as it is, is permanent,

As is my status as a negative determinant-

Of the progression of humanity,

I affirm, in pure vanity.

So I am completely stuck

In a perpetual state of muck:

I will feel discarded, irrelevant, and lacking,

Whilst they all insinuate slacking,

And make me feel as hollow

As a sad-eyed swallow.

Oh, Alackaday!

 

Oh, Alackaday!

So I must embrace being trapped

And stop acting as if I’ve been slapped-

Stop whining and rambling

Like a mad man gone gambling.

It’s all in my head,

All this silly old dread!

There really is no cause

For all this many flaws-

Hence grasp them!

Like a cracked gem!

That is gratifying-

And in its own manner ratifying-

Of the inevitable imperfection

That will never, ever, attain my affection.

Because at the end of the day,

There really is nothing I can do but say:

Ah, Alackaday!

 

 

 

 

 

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741