The Mercurial Champion

I looked back and read my last post, and already it just seems whiny and depressing. So I thought I'd compensate for that lame entry by sharing a poem I just wrote. I think it's pretty good.

"The Mercurial Champion"

There's a place in my pocket where the money's gone thin
But sometimes even a born loser's gotta win.
And I've only one chance to scratch the sky
So let the slings and arrows of my enemies fly.

Can't forgive ya, sweet Virginia,
Never would have thought that you had it in ya.
You spoke your mind and you stole my heart
But you flew of the handle when I fell apart.

Heaven sent on a speeding train
Sitting here stuck trying to write the refrain.
Got nothing but a pen and a pad of scratch
And the flickering flame on the end of a match.

Do you think when I make it anyone will care
About the wind and the rain and the dust in my hair?
I made more selling rocks on the South Street docks.
These fools only listen when it's the money that talks.

Sage-like advice, it comes at a price
Sins of the city, how they love to entice.
Pages and pages of words for the ages
Written by men who make minimum wages.

I used to be one of those unfortunate souls
Entrapped by pretty eyes staring back from black holes.
I let the women in my life just run me aground.
They talk and they talk but they don't make a sound.

Now I'm a writer and a new-age fighter
In one hand a pen and in the other a lighter.
Inscribed on the walls left unscathed by the fire:
A mission statement for my fledgling empire.

Lived like a bandit and died like a king
Mourned by the masses, in the streets they will sing.
Composed my own anthem and waged my own war
Collected the debts and I settled the score.

There's a place in my pocket where the money's gone thin
But sometimes even a born loser's gotta win.
And I've only one chance to scratch the sky
So let the slings and arrows of my enemies fly.