The Grumbler
Sitting there full of sullenness, and deep, unfocused rage,
Rummaging morosely through your life, reviewing every page
With a belly full of regret over so many projects left undone,
Glumly trying to place the blame for all those prizes never won.
Don’t shake your fists at God, son, trying so hard to feel betrayed;
You know who’s really to blame for those lousy choices you made.
Who vacillated when opportunity was right there in plain sight?
Who stood hesitant and fearful as possibilities faded with night?
Don’t grumble at God, son, because you now walk alone;
Remember all those times you changed direction on your own?
You made the decisions to go down easy, safer paths,
And they’ve finally led you here, full of sorrow, regret, and wrath.
The culprit’s there in the mirror, right where he’s always been,
Still feinting, shuckin’ and jivin’, still protecting that old chin.
So save the recriminations and tone down the grumpy voice;
Your only problem with God is He gave you freedom of choice.
© Thurman P. Woodfork
Awarded 8/14/2008
