"Clocks" coldly plays in my ears,
"...part of the cure or the disease?"
It's amazing how misunderstandings (and music) can help one cope.
When I feel short of oil in my lamp,
the right words at the right time act like an amp,
"Rage rage against the dying of the light."
As Dylan Thomas mourned paternal mortality,
in my ignorance the words of the weeping Welshman gave me temporal vitality,
even now that I'm aware of their accurate intent,
to my own interpretation I remain bent because if I don't hold the meaning that I first saw I lose breath as they become irrelevent.

Hence, in a an era of persistent pandemics, "progress" and injustice,
my spirit crawls with a flickering wick,
body weighed weak like a walking stick,
mind searching for life in a eulogy,
still seeking to slay the cynic in me,
petitions for wrongs to be made right,
raging against the dying...