Weary Poem by Percy Dovetonsils

I'm too weary
to start again.
There's no remedy
for missed connections
now.

I've made so many wrong turns
I'm back where I started from
but this time without the youth,
the hope, the future.

What I do have
is a desk full of bills,
paid and unpaid,
and more memories
than I can
sort.

If I could ever
clear
the desk drawers
of my mind,
order the files
of useless memory

why then I'd be
free
to travel light
and march forcefully,
fruitfully, into
what's left
of my future.

But every time
I try to glean
I lose myself
trying to find myself
and muse again
for hours
wondering at all that was
was not,
and could have been.