The Palace Poem by Wayne Sowell

The Palace

Eleven hours of sweat per week
Holds the walls together
And holds at bay all the creditors.

It is a meager life
Of gigantic proportions
Nothing is left to chance
Because everything is.

The rich would call it an existence
The poor would call it excess.
I call it my castle
I call it my home.

It is a world of toilet paper
And door knobs.

The night is my best friend
The day is a mistress
I would like to put away.

Am I happy?
Compared to the sadness I have known
Yes.

Am I holy?
Compared to His life
No.

I make my rounds in the world
A week at a time
Four days out of my mind
And three days in the body.

Work is for the idle.

Living is for everyone else.

I can not explain the Universe
Or work the simple algebra problems
I can string a few sentences together
And play Shakespeare's game.

The night holds me
The sun lighted bars of day
Allow me to escape.

Light only lets you look through the mirror
Opaque darkness hides your face from your real self.

Wipe yourself
And blow your nose
Wipe your feet
And blow your mind.

There are no drugs here.
And very few hugs.

I know the opiate of bread
And the intoxication of new wine.
It is enough.

I am sorry
That God
Is smaller than you thought
And less than you had in mind.

Let Him come to me
I only wanted to know Him.

Life is over
It lasted too long
I ran out of me
Before I ran out of life.

I fill the bread with emptiness
And spill the wine
On a table cloth
That will never come clean.

I live with the stain
And have lived with the pain.
Do not think you know it
And stop running around
Trying to find
A Word
That rhymes
With it.