Once upon an evening early, while I pondered not so clearly
Over the quaint and curious thought of needed exercise and more
While I thought that, nearly grasping, suddenly there came a gasping
As of some voice gasping, gasping at the guilt I bore
‘Tis just some guilt pang, I muttered, gasping at the guilt I bore
Only this and nothing more
Ah, distinctly, I remember that it was in late December,
That each separate guilt pang made its way into my mindset
Eagerly I wished the thought end; plainly I had fought the portend
Of procastination’s sorrow; sorrow for the last time Fit
For that rare and radiant body whom the wife called Fit
Nameless here for evermore.
Yes the former bulging muscles, rippling due to strong corpuscles
Thrilled her, filled her with fanastic thoughts of once before
So that now, to still the beating heart, I stood raving
‘Tis some thought annoying at this guilt I bore
Some late thought annoying at this guilt I bore
That it is, and nothing more.
Presently my mind grew stronger; procrastinating then no longer,
Ed, said I, or Ego, truly your permission I implore;
But the fact is I was gorging, and so gently you came forging,
And so softly you came scratching, scratching at the guilt I bore
That I scarce was sure I heard you, here I opened wide the door,
Darkness there and nothing more.
Deep into my deep subconscious, thought while there, haunted, nauseous
Doubting nor dreaming I would be fit like as before
But the thinking stayed unbroken, and my thoughts remained unspoken
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word “before”
This I whispered and an echo sounded back the word “before”
Merely this and nothing more.
Back did I return to conscious and my gut no longer nauseous
Soon I hear a scratching, scratching somewhat louder than before
Surely said I, surely there is something worthwhile in my forehead
Let me see then, what therein is, and this fantasy explore,
Let my heart be still a moment and this fantasy explore
‘Tis the wind and nothing more
Then I looked at motivation, to get closer to creation
In there stepped memories of the active days of yore
Not just once did I run on, to complete a half a marathon
And without a hesitation, perched without the guilt I bore
Perched upon a cloud of Cirrus, well beyond the guilt I bore
Perched and sat and nothing more.
Then a motive said stop crying, get a move on stead of sighing
Or soon looking back see a wife dressed in black she wore
“If your thoughts be to live long, life is more than just a sad song
Stop your gorging, couching, raving and the nightly feast galore
Tell me what the plan is, not to imbibe, in those treats galore
Quoth I, while raving, ‘Nevermore’
Much I marveled that I could see, days with much activity
Though many trips to Lewis weight room, could be such a bore
When we first start exercising, it’s hard to get the dumbbell rising
Ever yet be blessed seeing motives above the guilt I bore
Rhyme or reason in the forehead above the guilt I bore
With such name as ‘Nevermore’
But the motives that once sat lonely, in the forehead and spoke only
Just a few words, as if those words need be an outpour
Nothing further needs be uttered, extra words are feathers fluttered
Till you scarcely only mutter, ‘so many have done this before’
On the morrow think not for me, as my hopes have flown before
Then the ‘bird’ said nevermore.
Startled by old habits broken, my reply, So aptly spoken
Doubtless, said I, positive thoughts will I restore
Caught from some unhappy master, who wanted just to see disaster?
Day after day, week after week, lethargy was the burden I bore
Till I had no urges of hope; ‘why bother’ was the burden i bore
Of ‘Never-nevermore.’
But my motives still beguiling all my countenance to smiling
Straight I packed to fill gym bag and place it by the door
And though my runners stinking, I betook myself to thinking
Fantasy unto fantasy, moved by successful deeds of yore
What this grim, ungainly body was ‘cause of deeds of yore
Meant in croaking ‘Nevermore’
In the weight room sitting guessing, will this lifting be depressing
To the observing fiery eyes; now burning into my buttock’s core;
This and more I sat reclining, should I start or sit there pining
On the bench’s leathery lining, that the other patrons sweated o’er,
But whose ebony leathery lining with the patrons sweating o’er
He shall bench press, ah, nevermore
Then, I thought, get through the workout, that way you can end with no doubt
That Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkle originate the gasping at the guilt I bore
Wait, I cry, thy God has sent thee- by these angels he has sent thee,
Respite – respite, nepenthe from memories of the guilt I bore
Drink, oh drink this kind nepenthe, and forget this guilt I bore
Qoth the raven, ‘Nevermore’
But the motives, never flitting, still are sitting, still are sitting
In the mind and in the forehead to obscure the guilt I bore
And their value all the seeming of a spirit that is dreaming
And the spotlight on them streaming kills the shadows on the floor
And my soul from out that shadow that lay once upon the floor
Shall be lifted ‘Evermore’
©Ed Zirkwitz 2009
