The Rest Of It (Poetry)

Is there any way to know how much is still to come?
Is there any way to plan how to survive?
Is there any point in keeping flagging spirits up
when it’s really just a drag to stay alive?

Each day it seems there’s less and less to look forward to
and it’s simply more a case of getting through
whatever random obstacles block life’s narrow path
plus the poisoned cloud of lies that fogs the view.

There’s no way of knowing who to point the finger at
and it’s likely that there’s nothing to be gained
for our boats are burning, fleet by fleet, far out to sea
every war’s been lost — truth’s victory unclaimed.

But how do we use this time — the lull before the storm?
A revival of “Keep Calm and Carry On”?
Too late to learn from history — it’s painful looking back
on the good years when the best of life is gone.

And there is no way to measure what is left of it —
how many hours, days or weeks until the end.
It’s like budgeting with very little in the bank
and more bills to pay — just coppers spare to spend.