Progression Bruce McCorkill November 2017
Conceived, formed, born
Mystical gateway gently opening
A turmoil of forms, spilling
Onto the carpet, answering the call
Seeking the distant door
The lucky ones run
Fleet of foot, fast and sure
Dancing, bouncing, playing on the pile
Deft scampering from door to door
Positive pleasurable progression
The hopeless hapless try, intend
But get mired in the mud
The carpet can be treacherous
Sticky tentacles reaching up
To suck the unfortunate
Down into the morass
A miserable angry sodden trudge
To a mean shabby sunken exit
The middlings – a great messy mass
Strive to do their best
A confusion of aimless ants
This way, that way, diversions, tangents
Crawling and scrambling, sometimes dancing
Striving to avoid the suction of the bog
A journey to some meaning somewhere
Is there a purpose, any rhyme or reason?
Who cares, all end at the final portal
None can escape, like it or not
The snuff man is nigh, gently beckoning
Patiently waiting, waiting, waiting
So start the race, begin the journey
It’s the only one that counts
Life’s a bitch and don’t we know it
Way too short and way too hard
The bad is bad, but the good is good
You gotta get in to get out