The Toll Must Be Paid - a poem of Life and its travials

Each year on the streets
built up a terrible debt
of pains and rest denied
that came home at last
knocking me on the ropes.

A month for each year,
my body hath loudly decreed,
I must give it rest,
lest it break down hard,
and it collected this year.

Since January's winter snows flew,
each week my body ached,
and refused to let mind
wander the paths of exploration
about stories, poems, even gripes.

This is the recovery week.
The one when I rose
back from the thiick ennui
and lift up my pen,
metaphorical, in these electronic days.

Now I will write again,
though no where as prolific,
until I build a desk
to work out tales upon,
and use at my leisure.

But, first there will come
a bed, real not floor
grabbed by spreading a bedroll,
to sleep upon at last,
and regain a pinch more
of humanity.

27May2016 - A slowly rising back up from the fog Dyfedd Rex.