Stuck in a life of zits and fits galore
It all began when I found myself looking for more
There must be more to life, I declared,
Than being stuck in a universe dictated by 8 to 4.
The price we pay for peeping into the future
You peep too curiously, you might share the fate of the cat
You might not be able to handle that
Handle the fact that your plans expired
Even before you got to taste them
Handle the lines, freckles, liver spots
And come to terms with the failure
Of all those pricks and potions
Handle the loss of those props missing
From your carefully choreographed show
You might learn that you can handle
More than you will ever know.
The price we pay for staring at the past
You stare too long, you might get caught
You get caught, you might get fined
Fined for driving your car in reverse
In the fast lane.
For not changing gears fast enough.
For dwelling on the specifics.
For breaking too many rules
Ignoring rocks, papers, and scissors
And picking sticks.
You might find a friend
From the class of 1976.
The price we pay for winking at the present
(Depends on your wink)
You wink too flirtatiously, and you may get
Nothing more than a blink
A fleeting moment gone too fast to grasp
You wink too cautiously, and you might end up
Forgetting to reopen your eyes
In the agony of how, you may suffocate why
And in the agony of a personal panic you may
Never know what
It feels to be broken.
You might enjoy that about the past and future –You can only reflect and contemplate.