The raging dragon

It ain't over 'til the fat lady sings!
I'm not talking about no opera!
I refer of course, to Aunty Flow.
There ain't nothing one can do to stop her
Oh, when the raging dragon swoops into town,
one must humbly bow to greet it.
She mows down everything in it's path.
Rendering foe powerless and defeated

Before she appears one lives a life
that undulates twixt hope and fear.
Trying to block all thoughts of woe betide
despite knowing 'that' time draws near.
Every cramp and ache is analysed.
Every toilet break a struggle
not to start to visualise
that red river of monthly trouble.

It's minefield of mixed emotions
dealing with this wait.
It's like existing in the twilight zone
whilst the Gods decide your fate.
This limbo land, this purgatory
is like descent into Danté's hell.
This two week wait should actually be
the eighth circle of which he tells.

Externally, I seem quite calm,
but inwardly wracked with anxiety.
The soundtrack to my daily life
is Orff's ode to insanity.
Its an old poem set to music,
lamenting the despair that fortune brings,
cursing the cruel deceit of fate.
So dramatic when the whole choir sings.

As this fortnight drags on and on,
inching slowly towards its conclusion,
I'm hours from knowing if it's worked.
Full of hope, dread and confusion.
My body now is tense and battered.
Will it be worth the struggle and chagrin?
Frankly, I'm a walking wreck,
terrified of failure once again.

Oh, the fat lady has just struck up her tune!
I ain't got tickets to no opera!
Right on cue, it's Aunty Flow.
A cruel witch with not an ounce of mercy in her.
No! The raging dragon has just swooped into town,
crushing my dreams beneath it.
Into dust, I crumble in her path,
spent, worn out, exhausted.

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