SOUL TO FLY

So the dead want me to write another poem
About living at home and slowly dying alone
My failed half written poems are piling up around me
As one grows older it is harder to imagine and escape reality

I wish I could bring back the creative glory days of my mental illness
Burying my Mother released the joys of depression, infatuation and obsession
My mind forced my hand into writing to deal with this loss
A painful way to find a new hobby by paying this terrible cost

Forty year old women beg me to answer their love emails
I am stunned men their age no longer desire their tail
I fear the Love Boat for mankind has sailed

War doom, gas price boom, inflation zoom, climate gloom
Will send us all to the embalming room

Now the dead smile
They no longer envy the living
God has grown tired of always giving

So the only answer I can see
As I write my pathetic poetry
Is get down on your knees and slowly close your eyes
Try not to cry as we wait for our soul to fly