experience

Experience


To hard labours we prostitute,
Our precious finite time and lives,
In experience there is no substitute,
In those moments my soul thrives,

I’ve danced oft with the dark lady,
Her sickle aimed for my heart,
To reap the crop of my Arcady,
Those experiences my life’s art,

Few will dance with her as close,
And look into those desperate hollow eyes,
A lively tune thought the dancer morose,
It’s living life this skeletal maid despise,

Times like that are few and far,
And this death is somewhat kinder,
Over this old heart is that scar,
A parting gift and a reminder,

Climbing mountains, fighting duel,
Loving true with all my might,
And at times I am that fool,
When I give death my spite,

She persists in relentless threat,
For lost loves we pine,
I say this no hint of regret,
I lived a life that was mine.