I AM SICK OF IT, WHERE IS MY CONTROL?

I am sick of it,
Where is my control?
Am I not a young
Man, with Olympic
History and drive
Plunged elsewhere in life?

I am sick of it,
Where is my control?
Am I not a new
Book opened at its
Second chapter, full
Of author’s energy?

I am sick of it,
Where is my control?
Am I not in love
With the odds-less burst
Of vision, with all
Sense and sound a gift?

I am sick of it,
Where is my control?
Could it be a born
Diversion, my goals
A tap to sap my
Fire and soak my cheeks?

“I am sick of it,
Where is my control?”…
Or do I know all
That I know yet hide
Away in layered
Throes of misery?

I am sick of it,
Why have I, control?
The mind is weighty
Within the thickness.
Thought must turn its face
From plans to action.

I am sick of it.

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