Pouring the Whine

 

Back in the day
when happy go lucky me
still rolled in a spiritual way
I faithfully subscribed
to the pious bromide
to hate the sin
but love the sinner

Clinging to the ancient cliche
that the power of forgiveness
would lead to redemption eventually

God was I naive

I was that dupe ravaged continually

by those who steamrolled

over my praying carcass

with brazen impunity 

And thus I now live cynically

A bitter old man

existing is this Age of Suspicion

My tattered soul

bubble wrapped in skepticism

Always moving cautiously

through my mind field of trust issues

I do take a twisted degree of solace

(tinged with spasms of sadness)

that I finally get to ride

with the grievance majority side

I formerly used to deride

back in my former innocence

Now I am one of those twisted creatures

forever shaking our fists at the clouds

destined to rain down disappointment

on our unfulfilled lives

For cynicism is indeed

a self fulfilling prophecy