Before Misery Was Born Poem by Allen Steble The Philosophical Poet

Was I ever really sick to begin with?
I was such a happy and vibrant child
Full of energy and always playing
I didn't care what people thought about me
I just did things because I enjoyed them
Without regret or over analysis

Skip forward 20 years and the script has flipped
I've battled in the war zone of mental illness
For over 18 years now,18 exhausting years
Yes 6590 days roughly, over 157,000 hours
It's sickening don't ya think?
Especially when you look at it like that!

Now that I'm a mature adult, well...adult
I can see things from the watchtower
Or at least from a higher vantage point
Those years are not ambiguous by any means
Surrounded by so many bitter souls (myself included)
Who insist on taking their problems out on the nearest bystander

Thrust into a world of pointless competition
Fighting for a mediocre job
Fighting to please an indifferent boss
Fighting to stay sane while the years
Flicker away like the burning candle
With a sour scent of dissatisfaction

Guess what? The doctors grave
Is the same as the peasants grave
A gold coffin is still conceiled by dirt
And forgotten just as swiftly
The statement - 'I could have been'
Will bury you just as hastily

The questions? Oh they never seem to cease
What if? Why is it so? Who am I?
As the years pass there is no great clarity of answer
The only true clarity is that the questions never mattered
And your interpretation of them is just as easily forgotten with the subtle but loud ticking clock

You think you're special? A prize of sorts?
Everyone is in their fleeting drunk minds
Because a blink in eternity, scares me too!
And yet that's all we are graciously gifted
So as I raise a glass, I say to myself
Make the most of it, and blink beautifully!

The priest will bestow his blessing onto you
If you so choose to confess your humanity
He will proclaim the great sins of Babylon
Or perhaps will just babble on...
About what it means to be a righteous man
In a cursed land littered with treacherous temptations

There are millions of magazines
And bounties of audacious books
That tell you that you are sub-par
Your face, your body, your social status
Jealousy now comes in a pill
About 22cm x 28cm with a papery aftertaste

Ohh 6pm, it's propoganda-o'clock
Spread your fear like the wings of a hawk
Swooping down on the weary masses
Sharpen your beak of well-seasoned lies
And shower your storm of hatred
Just to divide what's left of unity

Just because society has become a rotten tree
Doesn't mean I need to devour the corrupt fruit
I was born to be forever free
Like you were born also to be
Follow your gut, your intuition, your heart
Stand true to you and on this world
Leave one hell of an awesome mark!