You chose with age
To speak with a prima ballerina’s rage
And speak of all the kingdoms
That would swoop down
Stick around
Then proceed to ignore you
No flash pot pan, guitar man
Or resurrected Apollo myth
To seal your fate
Feed your plate
And just plain worship and adore you
But the pills you swill
Bring you no thrill
So travel lightly on the wing this time
Leaving all your baggage behind
As you wander through your vagabond stage
And find yourself shovelling shit
With a rusty jack-handle queen of a broken spade
You must not be afraid
You must turn the page
You wore your goddess down
In jaundiced disarray
Your halo fell into decay
Swiped by those you loved
But could not hold in sway behind you
And then the dry spell leaves
At a low shutter speed
Long enough for you to see
That you create your own reality
And that the wait alone will not enshrine you