Who else shares in such as this my solid head,
With all its symptoms?
And who else stares at the world
Using this simple mind with its dreary liking for inflection?
If not one else,
Then who will stand alongside me
At the foot of the mast
Like a fog bound flag in a signalers’ frenzy,
As I say out loud these words of wisdom?
Who is it that coughs along with my words,
As if to jape my ills?
Who was it that whistled for us to begin?
Progressing, I should by now
Have ample cause to whistle an end to all of this.
But having found no one of truth, then the game must continue.
So on I shall go, going on.
©2018 Christopher Thompson
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