Fodder

The cold penetrates my very being,
like the wind that cuts through all pretenses.
Distracted, and low,
I am pulled over,
and treated like a criminal.
The bile and anger rises –
I want to be out of this place.

I wonder lost in my world,
beaten and despairing of ever finding
My way, my place, my passion.
Sadness ringing in my ears – I have lost it.
I had my chances
and now I am caught in this placid
Nightmare.

Pray, my son,
prayer might show you the way –
if the Lord is merciful
Enough to give you another chance.

I feel too old, and achy.
So many days
I arise and have no energy –
for I have become domesticated.
My fodder being
Used to feed others.

That is the way –
  is it not?