How Fitting

Isn’t it only fitting that

Four years of defeats and disappointments,

Should conclude with one final catastrophe?

Excitement mutated into disappointment; 

Feelings fell like the waves

Crashing,

                Crashing,

                                On a bellicose beach,

Thrusting sand into my mouth,

Gawkily reuniting me with

A familiar taste of

Failure.

How nice it would be to taste

A different flavor for once.

The succulence of

                             success

Rather than the smack of foul

                                               failure.

How nice it would be to ride the wave,

Make myself its

Master,

Drive it toward

New horizons,

And free myself from this

Lonely

Island of exile.

God knows I’ve tried.

Four years have passed,

Yet I remain imprisoned here,

Beleaguered by the truculent waves.

Nothing has changed.

Nothing at all.

And so I sarcastically marvel at how fitting it is,

I’ll be the only one

Alone at home.

Again.  

How fitting indeed.