Resurrection in Tanka

After much too long,

Walking through that darkened door

Finding no sparkle

In his once so vibrant eyes

Flooded with regret and shame


Sitting at bedside

As he writhed in clear distress

A calming hand clasp

And an old familiar voice

Provided him an anchor


As the stories flow

Telling him what he once told

Fire rekindles

A spark returns to gray orbs

Picking up forgotten tales

In the Vice of Life

They all want a piece of you,
Their own fragment of your life.
Your boss, your kids,
Your friends, your wife.
In the face of such demands
Are you surprised to find some strife?

But is there any real recourse;
Some simple way to make some space,
Some quiet time to breathe, of course,
A moment to escape the pace?
Choose not to bathe? Smell like a horse?
Would they fly away, post-haste?

Since it’s no fun to live alone,
Accept your time is not your own!