Color me the coward, yellow under belly,
too afraid to live, not afraid to die.
Do I suffer from unease or a disease?
Pusillanimous would be the decree
when I am no longer here to defend
my actions none will understand except
those who cannot admit they feel the same.
Caitiff seeker no longer seeing the sights,
Adrift in a life that is sampled and not lived.
Prisoner of the funks incomprehensible,
deserter still on the ramparts of life’s decay
while others fight hold their rightful place.
The greatest weakness of all my faults
is the envy and jealousy for those who went
to the comfort of a grave the brave detest.
Life continues for the fainthearted fool,
poltroon of the banquet table set
with the riches of a life lived to date,
taking comfort in the scraps dropped to the floor
when the riches are piled high on the plate.
These rewards missed, be they real or emotion based,
are the things I regret most while I remain upright.
© 2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20160217.