What The H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks Ever Happened To The 'A' List? Poem by Robert Sheridan

No knight in shining armor on a white-steed
But rather an aging farmer on an old plow-horse;

No guardian angel looking over your shoulder
But rather the Grim Reaper with his scythe;

No communication with follow-up & follow-through
But rather smoke-signals blown away by the wind;

No Lady Justice with The Sword of Justice
But rather she's carrying a rusty scabbard now;

No ocean water to wash across my face & brow
But rather hypodermic needles to stick into my skin;

No road to success, no road to recovery
But rather all there is, is a maze - can't unwind;

No clean air to breathe, unbreathable at best
But rather pollution wearing a death face mask;

No hope on the horizon, values lay dying
But rather vanished signs to which upon the vulture sits.

No longer looking for something good to find
But can no longer conquer - only wait to die.


'2008'