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DOWN

When down getting up seems kind of hard too do ,
The mire your in clings , drags you further down ,
You look up , the top seams far up too far ,
It seams too far up , beyond your reach ,

Down , don't look so bad , getting used too it may not be so bad ,
When your recall the why fore's your down ,
Looking up it looks kind of dark , can hardly see any light ,

They say count your blessing's , well that dos not take so long ,
The past comes in flashes , like badly tuned T V set , radio ,
Well that's trying too listen too old radio Luxemburg ,

The mire , drags you right too very sump of the hole your in ,
Now what too do?

The mire shit lapping your bottom lip , one gulp , it'll be over ,
But what the hell , stuff 'om , not goner end right hear , this way that way,

So you free your hands dig in your fingers and start pulling your self out ,
Dig your toes in too the sides , push , pull your way out and begin too clime ,
Inch it , centimeter by centimeter , looking up too wear you could see some kind of light up there ,

You drag your self up , reach the top , one final push , you leave the hole ,
And the mire behind you ,

You hear a voice '' wear you been , mate? ''

''Down that bleeding 'ole!'' , '' wear the fook were you? ''

Then you push the little shit down the hole!
'' Now lets see how you like it down there! '' you tit!* ''

*No use nor ornaments , on a bloke

Ken D Williams

The Dyslexic Poet

Poetry by ken d williams