220/365

 there’s people having strokes
and losing legs out there.
as you curl up with
your pathetic despondency,
pleading for indulgent pity,
because your are too content
and bored with the predictability
of an easy and secure life.
haven't you heard the latest pop song
it’s brutal out here.
aren’t you listening?
stop navel gazing
and conjure something that
burns like passion and brand it onto
each day. the next day. everyday.
can’t just leave behind
this legacy of lethargy.
punk rock. take stock.
time to remove all the locks.
old. fat. weak.
are default adjectives
that line the bed
of the unimaginative.
pedestrian poems
for prosaic people.
you have promised
the world more than this.
if it was the path less traveled by
that had made all the difference-
how did you end up
on the same plodding path
as every other self-loathing
middle-aged schmo?
the potential for the extraordinary
is a choice away
at every turn.
all you have to do is make it.