Accidie

Accidie

My wheels of life try to turn,
but the forks are bent and twisted
The gear hub only has three speeds,
and the seat is too damn low.

The journey is an upwards struggle,
plus my beginning was a hill start.
The distance is to far to walk,
and my vehicle just won't go.

I'm not pushing forward.
I'm not sliding back.
I'm sitting on the kerb,
alongside all the trash.

Life here's not to bad.
I'd like to stay a wile.
But there's a truck driving up the road,
and I'm standing in it's path.

The truck will destroy me.
I have to move fast.
My transport is a mangled wreck,
and my legs refuse to work.

I am crippled by my disability,
but more so by my lazy self.
It locks around my ankles.
I alone hold the key.

I war with the situation.
My mind the battle field.
Without the key I will be crushed,
with it I will have to leave.

I'm comfortable where I am,
though I may not be much longer.
I can only look to the future.
I wish the present would never end.