A Fill of Years
by Michael Doyle

We filled our lives with all of these years,
Faking smiles through too many tears.
Those that come after have their game.
We each had one, but who is there to blame?

The last thing we need is endless war.
The politicians only want an even score.
We came in with all our capability,
Before being confronted with our functionality.

Cleaved meat taken from the bone,
I've got my soul, but I'm alone.
I live my life from a bag of tricks
Like a drummer playing with magic sticks.

There's pain and what we self-inflict.
Throwing hands like some kind of addict.
Life is seldom any kind of fair game.
With a look in the mirror, we see who is to blame.

Feet first, crashing into the violence,
There is no time for broken string violins.
Face forward, we push into the toxic wind.
It seems loneliness is our only friend.

Cleaved meat taken from the bone,
I've got my soul, but I'm alone.
I live my life from a bag of tricks
Like a drummer playing with magic sticks.

The stranger in the mirror wears a familiar face.
We lived through the yesterdays that have left their trace.
The not-so-easy yesterdays arrived with probability,
And now the background noise has broken our flexibility.

We wear our wounds with a grimace and a smile,
Every minute of life is spent on a heedless trial.
Overwatch struggles to maintain tentative control.
But it seems that only God brings peace to the soul.

Cleaved meat taken from the bone,
I've got my soul, but I'm alone.
I live my life from a bag of tricks
Like a drummer playing with magic sticks.

(c) October 16, 2026   Michael Doyle
All Rights Reserved