You’re young and old, rich and poor, saint and “bad.”
One minute, okay, the next minute, crushed.
You are human, you feel things, you are clad
in black and white, light and dark, scraped and brushed.
When I’m all this, I’m all the way all down.
I’m “all,” because I just can’t do easy.
“Jack and Jill went up the hill?” NO! Uptown
they went swiftly, urgently, warped, wheezy.
“The simple are saved when they are brought low.”
Psalm 116:Six – Jack and Jill came down
the hill slowly, safely, not tomorrow,
but today. Now, we can be uphill bound.
I wrote this sonnet that I might not die.
Still want to die, though. Help me, God. Ally.