As she lies in her bed
with her broken dreams
her life is a mess,
but to others it seems
that she’s riding high
and her world is just fine.
Her mind’s blown a fuse,
all her ducks out of line.
With bats in her belfry,
the black dog runs free
and she’s spiralling down
to purgatory.
She tries to smell roses
to cheer herself up;
she drinks herbal tea
from her half-empty cup,
then walks herself ragged,
feet dragging so slow,
around and around and
then back home she’ll go
to face those dark demons
who all rant and wail.
They’ll tie her back down
in her turbulent jail.
It’s such a fine line
between sunshine and bog.
We skip and we dance,
or we flounder and slog.
It just takes a few things
to fail or go wrong,
and lacking support
it’s so hard to stay strong.
We slip through the cracks
and become lost to sight,
when others don’t look
to the left or the right.
Whether sinking, or waving,
drying your nails,
are sails torn and shredded
in these howling gales?
Perhaps you are leading,
a smile on your face,
unaware of the turmoil
as others race?
Turn around and take notice,
then lend a hand
to others whose lives
are just not what they planned.
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