if only life was more at ease

and chaos rarely came to tease

suggesting hell might well yet freeze

before I find my feet

I tumble like a drunken clown

and stumble with decorum flown

and long to find a comfort zone

to which I could retreat

excerpt from “if only”

There’s the stuff that niggles, the stuff that confirms for us whether we are officially in the grumpy old (wo)man category or just practising.

The puncture. The no-show bus. The half-remembered password. The search for the lost keys that makes the house look like a tornado has swept through it.

Then there’s the stuff that leaves us longing and restless for peace.

The doubt that niggles. The hurt, real or imagined. The grief, the disillusionment that compromise our careful poise.

If only, our singing sigh.

If only there was a different way to be. If only we could concentrate on now. If only forgiveness didn’t stick in the throat. If only the distance between was not so wide.

If only…

If only life was more at ease.