The Pedestrian

There perhaps is a time for the pedestrian plodding of prose the great bard once observed when the mission to be or not to be served reflects on the epic defects of life from unfairness to the travail succored by worry, disease, company all or some and maybe one eating away at the flesh fortifying the spirit only to have it vanish into the nothing from whence today where it came commanding the words to come to attention to recognize their mission and to salute their fate beats down, oppresses some more than any thought or effort to lift a giant steel beam to the rooftop As we manage (barely) I am sick I am bored I am depressed I find you dull mustering up little else yet There once was a time now fading into myth and receding from our collective vision when a hero saw greed in his need at last recognized there was poison in his passion and Spoke in thought to the world of his failure While we talk to ourselves, no one greater